


Permanent Midnight I thru XIII

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), The X-Files, due South
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-15
Updated: 2001-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 65,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: This was almost titled "Trust me about the sunscreen."   So there you go.  Ray Kowalski becomes a vampire, and it is quite a learning experience





	Permanent Midnight I thru XIII

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Permanent Midnight by Amy B.

Title: Left Turn  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: Due South  
Category: Alternate Universe (occurs before 3rd season)  
Pairing: RK/o  
Rating: NC-17  
Date: October 27, 1999  
Series/Sequel: Possibly  
Feedback at is always welcome.  
Disclaimers: Alliance Atlantis owns Ray, Fraser, Ray, Dief, and Stella. Used without permission. The rest are mine. Whoopee.  
Warning: Not nearly as much angst as there probably could have been, and not much Fraser in this one, but maybe next time. There is sex, violence, and sexual violence (probably pretty tame by some standards). This is a vampire story so there is a lot of blood--not for the excessively squeamish.  
Notes: For Zen, Happy Birthday! She mentioned a while back what a good vampire RayK would make and the idea lodged in the back of my mind. After reading this, y'all may wish it had stayed there. <g>  
As always, thanks to Mouse and Nicole for beta reading (mistakes mine, not theirs), and Deb for reading snippets and offering encouragement instead of throwing things at my head.  
Summary: This was almost titled "Trust me about the sunscreen." So there you go. Ray Kowalski becomes a vampire, and it is quite a learning experience.

* * *

\---------------------------  
"I'm here and I wonder if I'm lost  
'cause I can't seem to understand the way I feel  
I'm not here to be a creep I'm just feeling incomplete  
Take me home" -- from "Home" by Econoline Crush  
\---------------------------

Ray Kowalski slipped his shades in his pocket and glanced around the nightclub. The music wound its way down his spine into his feet, but he resisted the natural urge to dance. He was here for business, not pleasure and he'd just spotted his contact at table in an alcove off to one side of the two-tiered dance floor. Dodging his way through the crowd, Ray quickly made his way to Richard Ortega's table and slid into an empty chair.

"What's up?" The question popped out as casually as it always did, with not a trace of his worry showing. He hoped.

"Shipment's late, McCormick."

Ray nodded and breathed a mental sigh of relief that his cover was holding. He slumped back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. "Listen, O., the shipment is on its way. There was slight delay in bypassing Customs, but it'll be here by Friday."

"I have customers who needed it on Tuesday."

"And I'm real sorry about that, but stuff happens. I've got my best guys on it. Friday--trust me."

"See, that's the problem, McCormick. I don't trust you." Ortega waved his hand at two men standing behind him and snapped, "Take him out back and find out what really happened to my shipment."

Ray's protests fell on deaf ears as Miguel and Tony dragged him from his chair and frog-marched him through a darkened corridor to a back door as if they hadn't all been drinking together just last week. The taller man held Ray while the other stuck his head out into the alley to check for witnesses.

"All clear, Miguel." Ray stumbled as Miguel pushed him through the door, but the man didn't turn him loose.

"Guys, come on. You know me. The shipment'll be here just like I promised. There's no need to get--" Ray broke off as Tony's fist drove deep into his gut and he focused all his powers of concentration on not throwing up on his boots.

"Fuck, that hurt. Are we done now--" Ray's teeth snapped together as the next punch whipped his head to one side.

For the next several minutes, Ray forgot about trying to talk to his assailants and took the beating as best he could. His vision was so blurry from blood running in his eyes and the blows to the head, that he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing when the new guy showed up so unexpectedly. He'd have sworn the man had dropped straight down from the sky.

As soon as Miguel's hands were ripped away from Ray's biceps, Ray fell to the ground, gasping and rolling into a ball to protect his already bruised and broken ribs from the kicks that would surely come next. He heard scuffling and a couple of thumps and then silence. After a few moments of nothing happening, Ray rolled over and lifted a careful hand to rub his eyes.

Miguel and Tony were crumpled in unnatural positions against the building across the alleyway, and the newcomer was standing over Ray looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. Dressed in faded jeans, a T-shirt advertising the Jim Rose Circus Side Show, and a long black leather coat, the guy looked oddly imposing despite his average size and non-threatening stance. Ray blamed that on his up-from-the-ground perspective, but when he painfully dragged himself up to prop his back against a dumpster, he could see that the guy was not more than 5' 8" yet radiated the power of a much larger man. Ray shook his head at the general weirdness and immediately regretted the impulsive action as lights exploded in front of his eyes and he nausea rolled through him in a bitter hot wave. He swallowed hard and breathed deeply through his nose, which had miraculously remained unbroken.

The man shook longish black hair out of lime green eyes and smiled at Ray, revealing long fangs that gleamed like broken glass in the dim light. "You're hurting pretty bad, aren't you? I can make it stop. Do you want me to take the pain away, Ray Kowalski?"

"How--who...I'm...I'm McCormick," Ray stammered thickly through swollen split lips.

"No, you are Stanley Raymond Kowalski. I know you inside and out, young man, you can't lie to me."

The man's whiskey dark voice seemed to resonate pleasantly inside Ray's skull and he closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation. He wondered why this man, who looked to be nearly ten years younger than Ray, was calling him "young man" in that faintly paternal tone, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. He wanted to ask what happened to the other guys, but the only word he could get past his lips was, "Yes."

"Do you want me to take away your pain?"

"Yes."

"You want me to save you?"

"Yes."

"You want my gift."

"Yes."

"You want me."

The mesmerizing power in that low voice thrummed along his nerve endings, and Ray was only vaguely aware that the man had stopped asking questions and started making statements. It was as if he knew that Ray couldn't possibly say, "No." And in truth, Ray wasn't sure of what the strange man was offering, just knew that he had to have it. He had a sudden soul-deep need for *something*, and this man was silently promising to give it to him. Ray had to have it, whatever 'it' was. Without conscious effort, he lifted his arms toward the compelling man and murmured, "Please?"

The world spun around Ray's head, wind whipping past his ears in a dizzying rush. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, trying not to puke. When everything settled again, he opened his eyes and stared up at more stars than he'd ever seen from the city. Little bits of pea gravel dug into the back of his head, and he somehow knew he was on a rooftop so high the light pollution from the city didn't obscure all the stars. Lying on his back, he felt like he was floating in the universe. Every place that he'd been punched or kicked was screaming in agony, but he could ignore it all for the moment.

His rescuer crouched beside Ray and asked him, "Are you ready?"

Ray almost laughed, but couldn't remember why he wanted to, so he just nodded, "Yes."

Cool lips settled carefully on his and Ray sighed into the kiss, allowing a wet tongue to press between his teeth. His aches and pains slowly faded from his consciousness and arousal rushed in to take their place. This was so good, exactly what he'd needed. Ray whimpered his loss when the man drew away slightly, licking a path down his throat, stopping briefly to nip at his ear. By the time the cool lips settled over his jugular vein, Ray felt his cock responding to the stimulation in typical fashion--he was hard as a rock. His neck had always been a particularly sensitive area for him, and this guy was hitting all the hot spots.

Moaning as the razor sharp teeth sank into his flesh, Ray flinched as pictures and sensations bombarded his mind. A young man--not much more than a boy--walking along a riverbank in some foreign place. Names and faces. Swirling shadows as a woman in red danced around a campfire. Darkness. Pain shooting from neck to groin. Falling. The shock of frigid water closing over his head. Should be dead. Didn't die. The last rays of a crimson sunset then more darkness. Can't die. Won't die. A trash-strewn alley. Pain. Two men with broken necks. Flying. Blood. Stars wheeling through space. Weakness draining his body.

Then time stopped.

Warm salty fluid dripped onto Ray's lips and he lapped at it hungrily. Discovering that it was blood did nothing to quench his thirst. He needed more so he took it, until his entire body convulsed in the most powerful orgasm of his life. Waves of pleasure rolled through him, on and on until the night swallowed him up.

  
The sound of low voices nearby brought Ray to consciousness and he lay unmoving bundled into some sort of tight space, listening carefully. Two men--one Chicago accent, the other...not. They seemed to be arguing over chasing a thief. Ray almost smiled when the Chicago accent rose above the other in exasperation and said, "Benny, the guy tried to steal hubcaps from a Pinto. If anything, I should arrest him for criminal stupidity."

"Stupidity is not against the law, but stealing is. I believe he ran this way." This voice was reasonable, certain, and moving closer. It washed over Ray like a balm, and he realized the pain from his beating seemed to be fading with every shallow breath he took.

"Should've had Dief with us. He could have retrieved the perpetrator so we wouldn't have to be in this disgusting alley in the--" Chicago accent broke off his complaints and muttered, "Uh oh. Fraser, look over here."

"Oh dear. These men are dead, Ray."

Ray's ears twitched as he heard his name, but the Chicago accent answered so he opened his eyes slightly and saw that he was wedged between the bottom of a dumpster and a brick wall. He held himself very still trying to be as quiet as possible, so he could figure out what was going on. The two men continued to talk about crime scenes, calling back up, and canvassing the area. Ray prayed that his dark clothes would keep him out sight until he decided what he needed to do. He thought he should try to maintain his cover, but he didn't want to be hauled in for two murders that he didn't commit.

A group of women stumbled out the back door of the club laughing and talking loudly and Ray took the opportunity to scoot out of his hiding place and crouch behind the dumpster. He peeked around the corner just as the women began screaming. The two men who talked like cops rushed to their aid, and Ray got his first look at the owner of the voice that had soothed him so much earlier. The man was dressed in the red serge jacket and black jodhpurs that made up the dress uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Although he didn't look at all like a Benny, this Fraser person did appear to be an authentic Mountie. That would explain the accent, Ray thought to himself as he slipped away under the cover of the women's hysteria.

Farther down the alley, Ray turned into a breezeway between two buildings and saw a fire escape just overhead. Holding one arm against ribs that should have ached but didn't, Ray jumped up to catch the bottom of the ladder...and leaped about twelve feet straight up into the air. He was so surprised he almost fell back to the ground, but he grabbed a rail and easily pulled himself onto the second story platform. He went up fourteen stories in seconds, his feet barely touching the stairs. When he got to the last floor, he took a deep breath and swung off the grill and onto the small metal ladder that hooked over the wall surrounding the roof. He climbed up and huffed a sigh of relief when his feet settled securely on the cracked black tar.

Ray crossed the roof, backtracking toward the alley he'd just left. He was too curious to go home without knowing what was going on, and he really didn't feel all that bad anymore. He poked at his ribs--not even a twinge. Licking dried blood off his lips, he discovered the swelling was gone and the cuts had healed. He touched his forehead and found that the cut that had been dripping blood into his eyes was gone, the skin sticky but as unmarked as when he'd left home that evening. The odd disoriented feeling of being slightly outside of himself was fading too. To test the theory, he walked cautiously to the edge of the building, bracing against the wind.

When he looked over the edge of the building, he didn't feel as dizzy or frightened as he might have expected, even though the ground seemed very far away. He looked at the next building, maybe ten feet away and one story taller, and he remembered his jump to the fire escape. He hadn't even been trying that time. Imagine what he could do if he really put his mind and body into it.

Ray stepped up onto the knee-high wall, bent his knees, and pushed hard, flinging himself off into space. His triumphant laugh when he landed safely on the roof of the next building startled some sleeping pigeons, but he barely noticed. He was too caught up in the wonder of the moment. He was tempted to do it again... and again and again until he had circled the entire city on nothing but rooftops. But he remembered his original plan to check out the crime scene so he continued silently on his way until he found a good vantage point.

Other cops had joined the first two and the area was cordoned off with crime scene tape and wooden barriers where a couple of uniforms guarded the mouth of the alley. One of them was Joey Crosetti whom Ray had worked with before and the other he didn't recognize but the nametag on his jacket read Gregory. Ray shook his head when he realized he could see all that without his glasses. Something very queer had happened to him tonight and he settled back against a shed to watch the circus below and try to remember the details.

The Mountie stood off to one side speaking to a uniform and Ray found that if he concentrated he could hear the conversation. He closed his eyes and listened to the melody of the Mountie's voice, not paying much attention to the actual content until the man said, "Good evening" and moved away from the officer. Ray opened his eyes in time to see him follow a balding guy in an expensive suit to an old green Buick Riviera, which they got into and drove away.

Ray jumped to his feet and followed, running across rooftops until he got to the street where he'd parked his car. He somehow managed to get ahead of the Buick, so when it passed he waited a few seconds and pulled out behind it. He followed the two men to the twenty-seventh precinct station house where he parked a couple of blocks away and waited. Two hours later, the two men came out again, got back in the car, and drove away with Ray following at a discreet distance.

When the car stopped outside a shabby apartment building in a rough neighborhood, Ray was surprised to see the Mountie get out and the cop just leave him there. Ray parked his car and hoped it would still be intact when he got back. As he approached the building, he saw a flash of that distinctive red in one of the upper floor windows with his newly enhanced sight. Ray was sorely tempted to climb the fire escape and peek in the window or otherwise spy on the Mountie, but he made note of the location, turned around, and went home.

His earlier exhilaration had worn off, and he had much to think about, questions in need of answers, bizarre events to be assimilated. He was also very, very thirsty.

  
Entering his apartment, Ray didn't bother with lights. He went directly to the kitchen and filled a glass with water straight from the tap. He drank it down, refilled the glass, and walked around the counter into the living room. He'd just settled tiredly on the sofa, when a voice drifted out of the dark to his left.

"That's not going to help, you know."

Sighing, Ray reached out and clicked on a lamp, illuminating his uninvited guest lounging comfortably in an easy chair. "What?"

"The water. It won't quench your thirst, not for long anyway. You need to feed."

"How did you get in here? Who are you? And just what the fuck are you talking about?" Ray had the fleeting thought that he should be scared or worried or something, but all he felt was tired-- and thirsty, of course. Still thirsty. "Did I cover everything?"

"I fear that you will have even more questions before the night is over, Ray. May I call you Ray? I suppose I should after the incredibly intimate experience we shared. I did save your life after all." White teeth and pale green eyes gleamed in the lamplight, sparking a memory in the back of Ray's mind.

"No, you didn't. I was getting my ass kicked, sure, but they wouldn't have killed me. Tony's a sadistic little fuck, but Miguel wouldn't have--"

"Are you so sure of that? You had some broken ribs. The right blow--" The man demonstrated sharply in the air with one hand. "--could have driven a rib through a lung and then how long would you have lasted? A few more blows to the head, the kidneys, blood...loss."

"What'd you do to me?" Ray asked with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, fearing the answer, but having to ask.

"I gave you my gift. I made you a vampire."

"Yeah, right. That's Anne Rice books and Hammer films."

"Lucky for us, there's no Doctor Van Helsing making our extinction his life's work," laughed the man in Ray's living room.

"Who are you, ya freak?" Ray was getting seriously frustrated, and the burning in the back of his throat seemed to be spreading to the rest of his body. He picked up his forgotten glass and drank the water, but the thirst was hardly lessened.

"You can call me Trevor."

"But that's not your real name is it?" Memory stirred again, disjointed and splintered. Memories only nominally his own. "Dario. Your real name is Dario Ale--"

"Not anymore." The Vampire cut him off sharply. "It was once upon a time, but now it's Trevor. Real can be so relative." He sat up and rummaged around in his coat pockets, finally withdrawing something, which he pitched casually at Ray. "Here, this will make you feel better."

Ray caught the tossed object reflexively, and stared down at the warm, slick bag in confusion for a moment before the dark red color finally made sense to him. He raised his eyes to Trevor and stammered, "This is...this is really blood? This is *blood*."

"Yes, O Positive. You're going to need it." Trevor stood up slowly and removed his coat, revealing a snake tattoo winding around his right forearm from elbow to wrist. Flinging his coat over the back of the chair, he sat next to Ray and took the bag from his unresisting hand. His eyes seemed to glow as he spoke in that soft resonating voice that Ray remembered from the alley. "Trust me, Ray. This is the only way to relieve the hunger inside you."

Ray swallowed hard as the vampire bit a small hole in the top of the bag and filled Ray's empty water glass with thick maroon liquid. He tried not to think about what the substance was, only that it would make him feel better. Trevor tilted the glass to his own lips, then quickly took Ray's mouth in a deep kiss, letting the blood pour over his tongue and down Ray's throat. Moaning deeply, Ray sucked and licked every bit of blood from the other man's mouth. When he was ready to beg for more, Trevor sipped from the glass again and returned for another nourishing kiss.

Ray was astonished to find his cock getting hard, and thought to himself that those books he'd read had gotten one of their facts wrong. Needless to say, this discovery pleased him greatly. The rush of arousal through his bloodstream seemed to twine with his hunger, until there was a single twisting, sparking need. A burning desire for the man he'd wrapped his arms around at some point.

Ray's teeth felt unaccountably itchy, and he ripped his mouth off Trevor's. The other man grinned widely showing an impressive set of fangs that hadn't been visible earlier. Instead of revulsion, lust hit Ray like an electric current. He lunged at Trevor, sinking his teeth into the long pale throat, bent and bared for his delectation. There was a brief moment of disorientation when Ray's fangs pierced skin for the first time, but the iron sweetness that dripped onto his tongue focused him. He'd barely gotten his first mouthful when fingers fiercely gripped his hair and pulled his head away.

"No, no, my eager young friend. I've already fed you once tonight." Trevor shoved the glass into Ray's hand and tilted it to his mouth. "Here, this is your nourishment. Consider your taste of me...foreplay."

Drinking it down greedily, Ray asked for more and the second glassful disappeared as quickly as the first. Licking the residue off his lips, Ray sighed with relief as the burning hunger abated, leaving behind only arousal. He gave Trevor a sideways glance and saw that the vampire was watching him intently, waiting for something. Waiting to see if Ray would make the first move or if he would flee in terror?

Ray smiled and flicked the end of his tongue over his new fangs, feeling a well of personal confidence that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could make the first move all right, and he would, just as soon as he got a few more answers. He took the bag off the coffee table and asked, "Where'd this come from?"

"Blood bank. Your first feeding should be human, but after that it makes no difference."

"So I don't have to kill people to survive? If I *do* bite somebody, do they die or become a vampire or what?"

"No, you don't have to kill, although many do out of sport or lack of self-control or their own evil natures. I don't know what motivates the more predatory among my brothers." A look of sadness passed through Trevor's eyes, then he ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the strands back from his face. He smiled with self-effacing charm and said, "But I don't always understand my own motives either--not in killing, that I understand all too well, but in turning or *procreating*, you could say. You're a good example of my inability to control my impulses. I saw you and I wanted you to have the gift. I felt great pain in you--not just from the assault either. An old pain radiated from your very soul and I wanted to take it away. I am too full of myself sometimes."

Ray was so angry he could hardly see straight. "You're full of something, all right. I'll deal with my own pain and my own soul, thank you very much. You just tell me what I'm supposed to do now. Sleep in a coffin, turn into a bat, what? You made me what I am, so tell me what that is and answer my questions."

"I like you, Ray Kowalski. You have fire." Ray's eyes narrowed and Trevor laughed and continued, "You have to drain someone to the point of death and then give them your blood to turn them into a vampire. You will be too weak to do so for awhile, and I don't recommend it anyway until you fully understand the life."

"Hypocrite," Ray muttered under his breath, but Trevor ignored him.

"You may drink from a human--or animal if you prefer, although I can't imagine why you would-- for sustenance or purely for pleasure and they will recover quite nicely as long as you don't take too much. Draining them completely will kill them, taking a bit too much will put them in the hospital in need of transfusions and that raises too many questions. If you have taken so much that your victim is that weak, go ahead and kill them and save yourself and all the rest of us the potential trouble an inquiry would create."

"That's cold."

"That's survival! If you prefer to avoid intimate human contact, you can be one of those angsty, suffering vampires who only takes from butcher shops. I'll give you an address where you can safely procure all the blood you could need at a reasonable price." The smile returned as he added, "I know a guy."

"You know a guy that sells blood to vampires right here in Chicago? Sure, why not? Makes as much sense as anything else that's happened tonight."

"You may sleep anywhere you wish, anytime you wish, as long as you stay out of direct sunlight, of course. It hurts like a motherfucker."

Ray's eyebrows shot up and Trevor said just a tad defensively, "Well, it does. The coffin, the dirt, the compulsion to sleep as long as the sun is up is all myth. The stake through the heart, unfortunately, is not. Avoid all sharp, pointy wooden things."

"Myths, huh? What about..." Ray abruptly stood up and went into the bathroom and turned on the light. He stared into the mirror, relieved to find that he still had a reflection. His hair was still blond and spiky, if really in need of washing at the moment, and his eyes were still blue. He opened his mouth and inspected his teeth, but the fangs were gone. "Hey, where'd the fangs go?"

Trevor answered from directly behind him just as his reflection appeared over Ray's shoulder. "The lust has faded, more's the pity. At first, they only extend when you need them or have strong physical reactions, but as you get older and stronger you will be able to control them. It's a learned skill, like walking or talking."

Ray nodded absently and picked at his blood and dirt streaked clothes. "I need a shower. You won't leave, will you?"

"I'll even join you if you want."

"No thanks, but don't leave yet. Please?"

"I will stay here, but when dawn approaches, I will have to go home or I'll be stuck here all day."

Ray looked Trevor up and down and felt his teeth getting itchy again. Time to make that first move. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"You may wish to be alone to deal with the changes." Ray started to strip off his clothes with slow languid movements, and Trevor cleared his throat. "Or not. I have to go out for a moment, but I will return shortly."

"I'll be here." Ray took off his underwear, turned on the water, and stepped into the shower, unconcerned that Trevor was still in the doorway watching his every move. He felt good about himself, Trevor, the Mountie he'd seen earlier, his new life, everything. It was a sensation that he was not accustomed to feeling, and would probably not last long, so he was determined to enjoy it while it did.

He washed his hair, soaped his body, and luxuriated in the hot water until his fingers started to wrinkle. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, drying off quickly and thoroughly before walking naked into his bedroom for clean clothes.

Ray had just slipped on a pair of boxer briefs when he heard his front door open. Quietly taking his spare gun from the nightstand, he went and peeked around the edge of the bedroom doorframe. Trevor gave him a friendly wave, as if he didn't notice the gun pointed at him, and set a grocery sack and smaller white bag on the counter that divided kitchen from living room. "It's just me, Ray. No need to hide...or dress."

Ray put the gun down since he was unsure if it would do any good. Shooting Trevor was the last thing he wanted to do right now, especially when he pulled off his coat and turned to hang it up, revealing just how snugly those faded jeans fit his backside. The vampire moved gracefully, as if his feet didn't quite touch the ground. He reminded Ray of some of the men at a ballroom dance competition that he and Stella had once entered. Those men had moved with such flowing grace that Ray had felt clumsy and slow in comparison, but he and Stella had come in second anyway. She'd gotten the trophy in the divorce, but he'd gotten the picture, which meant much more to him than any cheesy hunk of metal and plastic.

"So what's in the bags?" Taking Trevor's advice about not putting on clothes, Ray walked into the living room clad only in his shorts. "If there's a severed head in there, I'm going to be very upset."

Trevor laughed and said, "Wayne's World. I loved that flick."

"You watch movies?"

"Breaks the monotony of haunting musty old mansions and hanging out in graveyards."

"Yeah, okay, I got you. So, the bags?" Ray found the other man's habit of straying from the subject and his own tendency to follow rather irritating.

"Ah, yes. Well, this one is... groceries." Reaching into the big brown bag, Trevor pulled out three dark green wine bottles and a six pack of beer in dark brown bottles. Groceries for an alcoholic maybe, thought Ray but he didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the couch. Trevor held out one of the beer bottles and showed Ray the label that read Butcher Breweries, Limited. "These will probably get you through the week. When you get stronger, you won't need to feed nearly as much."

There it was again. The word 'feed' sent a shudder down Ray's spine, driving home just how strange his life had become. Now he was a freak like this man who was rummaging around in his cabinets. "What are you looking for?"

"Wine glasses." Pulling out a couple of Scooby Doo jelly glasses, Trevor muttered under his breath complaints that Ray chose to ignore.

"What for? We already... tonight."

"For the wine." Trevor reached into the white bag and pulled out a wine bottle with a traditional sounding name. "I was in the mood for Chianti."

"It's real wine?" Ray refused to be surprised by anything else for the rest of the night. He was just surprised right out.

"Yes. It's odd, no? We can drink anything we want, just can't eat." Now he rattled around in the kitchen drawers, finally pulling out a combination bottle/can opener that had a built-in corkscrew. "Trust me on this. Eating will make you violently ill. Alcohol doesn't have as much effect as on mortals, but it will eventually make you drunk."

Opening the bottle and filling the glasses, Trevor handed the Shaggy one to Ray and held up his own Velma cup, saying, "To your new life!"

"Yeah, cheers," Ray snorted, but he did tip the glass back for a long sip. "What else you got in there?"

Trevor's eyes took on that glowy look and he smiled. "Astroglide. Not my favorite, but it's what was available."

Nodding his understanding, Ray took another sip of wine then set the glass aside, reaching for Trevor. The other man moved into his arms smoothly, his hard body coming to rest against Ray's nearly naked one. Ray felt a tingle that started in his teeth and moved straight down to his groin, taking no detours. His hands clutched the back of Trevor's t-shirt and it was all he could do not to rip it off his body. Instead, he pulled it out of the vampire's jeans so he could get at the smooth cool skin underneath.

Opening his mouth under Trevor's kisses, Ray discovered that the fangs that were so useful in the neck area were also a danger to tongues. Until he learned to avoid them as instinctively as Trevor seemed to, the kisses were blood flavored, and not unpleasant as he might have imagined.

Ray moaned into Trevor's mouth as the vampire's clever hands skated over his body, teasing and tempting him with light touches. Ray's own hands seemed frozen on the other man's ass where they had worked under the denim of his jeans. His hips bucking sharply as Trevor nipped at his throat, Ray dug his erection into his partner's and tried to maintain his slippery grip on control.

"Trevor...wait a minute," Ray gasped, pulling one hand free to tug at the other man's clothes. Trevor's hands left Ray's body and started to help Ray with the disrobing. His mouth remained on Ray's throat, licking, kissing, nibbling-- but not sucking, never puncturing the skin. As Ray worked at getting the other man naked, he pushed his throat into Trevor's mouth, wanting the bite again. Needing it.

Trevor lifted his head and smiled. "Not yet." He stripped his shirt over his head and shoved his jeans down not bothering with his shoes and socks. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the tube of lubricant and pressed it into Ray's hand. Then he spun around and braced himself over the back of the couch.

Ray looked at the lube in his hand and then at the expanse of creamy skin before him, and nearly ripped his underwear off. He slicked his fingers and prepared Trevor first, not taking as much time as he might have liked in a calmer state of mind. He gritted his teeth as he applied the cool gel to his throbbing erection. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply, before he could even think of approaching Trevor because he knew it would be over in a flash if he didn't.

As Ray opened his eyes and stepped closer, Trevor growled at him to hurry. He glared at Ray over his shoulder, eyes glowing and fangs fully extended. Ray's cock jumped in his hand and he swallowed hard, placing the head of his cock at the entrance of Trevor's body. Wrapping one arm around his middle, Ray pressed slowly inside, pausing briefly to let the other man adjust to his presence then pushing steadily until he was completely buried in the warmth of the Trevor's body. He asked hesitantly, "Trevor...are you okay?"

"Yes!" The vampire thrust his hips back and pleaded, "More, Ray. Hard and fast."

Hard and fast suited Ray's desires, so he whispered, "All right, hang on." And then he braced his hands on Trevor's hips and gave him what they both wanted, stabbing deep, pulling almost out, then slamming home again. Over and over, he thrust his cock into the man who had most likely destroyed his current life and given him a new one that he could barely fathom. He bit back the anger, knowing this was not the time for it, and focused on the pleasure of the tight warm body he was pumping into. Leaning his head forward, he buried his nose in the back of Trevor's soft dark hair. A fleeting image of a beautiful man in red flashed past his closed eyelids and then Ray was coming explosively inside Trevor.

Collapsing onto Trevor's back, Ray rode the wave as the gasping man jerked his own cock until he climaxed, groaning Ray's name. Ray felt a minute flutter of guilt that he'd been thinking of someone else at the golden moment, but he shook it off easily. He didn't owe this man a damn thing, if anything it was the other way around.

Yeah, he owes *me*, Ray thought suddenly. He took it upon himself to turn me into a monster like him. Monster--arrogant-- freak--son of a bitch.

Without another thought, Ray raised one hand and twisted his fingers in Trevor's hair, pulling his head around, baring the side of his neck. He lunged forward and drove his fangs in before the other man could protest. The savory-sweet blood rushed over his tongue and through his veins like fire. His cock stiffening again inside Trevor, Ray started thrusting again, even harder than before, shoving inside with a fierce ache in his gut that he'd never felt before during sex. With a wet groan, he pulled his mouth from the promise of Trevor's throat. Cursing with every ragged, sobbing breath, Ray fucked the vampire with hard, jerky thrusts until he came with a pain wracked whimper.

Wrenching himself free without a thought for the other man, Ray stumbled back against the counter. "What'd I just do? Fuck! What've you done to me?"

Blood trickling down his shoulder and the inside of his thigh, Trevor straightened to his full height and cocked his head to one side, turning slowly. His blank stare met Ray's horrified gaze as he asked mildly, "Feel better now?"

"No!" Ray choked out the word and fled to his room, feeling stupid and dirty. He slammed the door and then cursed himself for acting like a teenage girl. He stomped into the bathroom to wash off. "You have fucked up royally this time, Ray. You have...you have really. Fucked. Up."

After another long shower, this one cold, Ray walked out of the bathroom and noticed his bedroom door was still closed. Yet, he could feel the other man still in the apartment. Trevor must have decided to give him the space that he so obviously needed. He'd thought he was dealing fairly well with the complete alteration of his life but apparently that wasn't the case.

Dressed in comfort clothes of worn chinos and a faded sweatshirt, Ray opened his bedroom door to find his...what? Lover, attacker, victim, killer...what could he call the man currently lounging on his sofa with a glass of wine and yesterday's newspaper? He shook his head and noticed that the radio was playing low in the background.

"Make yourself at home," offered Ray with a feeble attempt at a smile.

"I did, thank you. Are you feeling better now?" Trevor laid the paper aside, and sat up straighter, watching Ray carefully.

"Yeah. Uh...no."

"Feeling guilty for what you did and angry for what I did?" Trevor slowly got to his feet and stalked toward Ray, smooth as a panther after prey. Ray stood his ground, although a cloud of butterflies took flight in his stomach and a fine sheen of sweat popped out on his forehead.

"Ray, look at me." Ray almost laughed at that because he couldn't look anywhere else, and he *was* trying. He blinked once and suddenly Trevor was there, surrounding him, crowding him up against the wall. Ray's eyes widened as Trevor's hand closed around his throat and lifted him a good six inches off the floor. "No matter what happened earlier, you can't overpower me. I *let* you get rough with me because I felt that you needed the release. I've already healed."

Spots dancing in his eyes from lack of oxygen, Ray clawed at the hand on his throat, but Trevor just shook him like a rag doll and tossed him through the doorway to land with a bounce in the middle of his bed. He lay there gasping for breath and imagining how easily Trevor could have tossed him through a window or up against a brick wall. Like Tony and Miguel, a little voice reminded him. Yeah, exactly like that. For one long endless moment, Ray was paralyzed with a terror like he'd never felt before, not even facing down three escaped felons with no backup. The enormity of what this man was and could do to him overwhelmed him, and it was all Ray could do to draw air through his tortured throat. The room went grey around him and he felt that floaty disconnected sensation, that before tonight he'd only associated with massive amounts of alcohol. Since he'd never cared for that feeling, he didn't drink much.

"Ray. Ray. Ray!" His name being repeated with increasing volume finally penetrated the haze. Ray blinked and shook his head, limbs twitching as if to reassure him that they could. A bump from the end of the bed made him raise his head and look around. Trevor was kneeling on the end of the bed between Ray's spread feet, wearing an impatient look on his face.

"What?" Ray muttered for lack of more intelligent comment, surprised but pleased that his throat didn't hurt anymore.

"You're not going catatonic on me, are you? Because if so, this will be one very long day."

"Day? What time's it?" Ray turned and squinted at the clock. "Nine-thirty? For real?"

"Sunrise came and went while we were...too busy to notice. You've been lying here staring at the ceiling for over two hours." As Trevor spoke, Ray sat up and faced him. The man looked a bit sheepish as he said, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me until this evening."

"It's okay. Umm...what now?" Ray asked, truly having no clue as to how to proceed from here.

"Well, it's been a long, eventful night, so I'd just like to go to sleep, if it's all right with you. I can go sack out on the sofa..."

Ray thought for a moment about rolling over and going to sleep alone and then sighed. "Nah, come on up here. There's plenty of room."

Ray got up and pulled the covers back while Trevor checked to make sure the windows were sufficiently covered. After a moment's hesitation, Ray stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed, watching as Trevor did the same.

The two men lay in the not quite dark for several minutes, each carefully staying on his side of the bed. Finally, Trevor rolled over and reached out to Ray, asking softly, "If I hold you while we sleep, you won't get too attached will you?"

"Uh, no. I guess not," replied Ray, with a shrug. He moved closer so that Trevor could wrap himself around him. Ray got a mental image of the snake tattoo that made him distinctly uncomfortable. Yet it was so nice to share a bed with another person again that he shook it off and settled into sleep.

  
When Ray woke up, the room was dark and the bed was empty. A glance at the clock showed that he'd slept a little over nine hours. He rubbed at his eyes and tossed the covers back. The back of his throat was burning and his insides felt hollow, so he headed straight for the kitchen.

Ray caught himself reaching for the jar of instant coffee, and checked the movement. Maybe later, he thought, opening the refrigerator door and grabbing a bottle. Unscrewing the top, he took a long gulp straight from the bottle and made an important discovery. Cold blood was not nearly as appetizing as the warm variety. He choked down that first mouthful, then filled a coffee mug and popped it into the microwave for about a minute.

Propping his elbows on the counter, he read the note that lay propped against the telephone. Trevor was gone, as Ray had already suspected, and the note indicated that he wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. True to his word, he'd left a card with an address and hours of business and the instructions, "Ask for Len. Tell him you know me."

The bell dinged on the microwave and Ray removed the mug of warmed blood, taking a cautious sip. "That's more like it," he hummed with satisfaction, then settled down to figure out how he could keep his job and his new secret at the same time.

Right now, he was undercover trying to infiltrate a drug ring, so moving only at night was definitely do-able. After this assignment, it was anyone's guess where he'd be sent. He wasn't going to sweat it for now. He could always quit. He'd never really wanted to be a cop in the first place. Hell, he could track Marcus Ellery down and then go on about the rest of his life. His very long, night-time life.

Ray groaned and went to refill his cup. This was going to be one long night, and he had to suck it up and get going. He had to try to salvage his cover and find out what was going on in the murder investigation. For purely personal reasons, he was also going to look into why a Canadian Mountie was riding with a Chicago detective.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Learning to Fly  
By Amy B.  
A vignette set after "Left Turn"  
Rated R for language  
Comments welcome at 

* * *

\--------------------------------------------------------------  
A soul in tension that's learning to fly  
Condition grounded but determined to try  
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies  
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earthbound misfit, I  
\--From "Learning to Fly" by Pink Floyd  
\--------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck, it's windy up here. I must have lost my mind. Fifteen stories feels much higher than it looks. The Lake looks so...clean from up here. As unlikely as that possibility is, it's gorgeous--like a sea of ink.

It's also scary as hell. I never did learn to swim. Always kinda meant to do it, but it just never really mattered that much. I was much more into baseball and roller skates and riding bikes as a kid, and as an adult, it was too embarrassing to admit I couldn't do something that so many other people--like Stella-- take for granted. Stella and I had known each other for twenty years so I was running out of excuses to avoid going into any water over three feet deep. Ah hell, she probably figured it out years ago and just let me keep making a fool of myself. That would be just like her.

Gotta get Stella out of my head. She never does any good there. I'll probably never see her again anyway, now that I've...changed. I wouldn't want her to know what I've become. Some days, I'm not all that thrilled with the knowledge myself. It's not like I was sitting around thinking, "Hmm, what would make my life complete? Becoming a blood-sucking-daylight-avoiding nightcrawler, that's what!" I didn't even know vampires existed, and now I am one. Ain't life a contrary bitch?

Man, that water is a long way down. But Trevor swore that I couldn't die except from sunlight or a stake through the heart. Now I have to decide how much I trust him. So far everything that I could test has turned out to be true. Sticking my hand in a sunbeam just for one second proved him right about one thing--it hurt like a motherfucker. I am *never* gonna do that again. I shudder just thinking about it.

This is one thing I gotta try. That leaping tall buildings in a single bound thing is pretty cool, but I have this urge to fly. I read it in a book once. These vampires could fly anywhere they wanted to go. Trevor never mentioned flying, but then we only had that one night together and after a while, we quit talking altogether. There was so much I should have asked him, but I was too twisted up in the whole experience to think real straight.

This desire to fly is insane. I should go right home and forget about it. My mom might have made me a red cape when I was five, but I'm *not* Superman. I'm just a guy. Just a guy who drinks blood and will never get any older... Okay, so maybe I'm not exactly what you'd call normal anymore...if I ever was, which I kinda doubt.

Wanting to fly's not all that insane. Wouldn't most people want to fly if they could? I guess it's the *trying* that's so crazy. Well, I haven't tried yet so I'm still all right. I can stay back from the edge. I can stand way over here by the elevator. I'm out of the wind, away from the edge...I'm safe.

Safe. Yeah, I'm safe right here. Nice and safe with my feet firmly planted on the pea gravel and tarpaper. I like being safe, don't I? It's soothing and calming and...not me at all. When have I ever chosen my personal safety over what I really want to do? Over what feels right? And this flying thing... This flying thing feels like something I gotta do.

I have to fly. I don't want to. Well, I do want to, but I'm afraid. It's fifteen stories to the ground--even more to the water. I'll probably break every bone in my body if-- *when* I fall. This need is gut deep, though. It's one of those--whatcha call it--expulsion... compulsion. Yeah, that's it, a *compulsion*.

The wind seems to be pushing me toward the edge now, but shouldn't it be blowing from the other direction? Maybe someone's trying to tell me something. Who knows? Maybe I'm *supposed* to fly. Maybe...

Okay, I'm moving. Just a few more steps to the edge. That water is an awful long way down. What am I doing? Have I lost my freakin' mind?

It's a definite possibility.

But I'm going to do it. I think. No, I will. I'm gonna fly. I'm going to step back and take a running start, spread my arms... and jump.

Wow. Ohwowohwowohwowohwow....I'm doing it. I'm flying--so fast the wind whistles past my ears--didn't expect that, but hey, I'm not plummeting to the ground. Amazing! I'm really doing it.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" Take that Chrissy Aguilera for calling me a geek in sixth grade and saying you'd rather kiss a toad than me. And Coach Morgan for not letting me play first base even though I thought I could do it. Take that Dad for saying how much I disappointed you. And Stella for leaving me. I *am* more than you thought. No more misfit loser. I can do something none of you can do... I can *fly*.

All I need's a cape and I *will* be Superman. Ha! I'll bet that Mountie's never known anyone who could fly. I wonder how he'd like that? Hey Fraser, want to go flying with me? Yeah, that's it. Bet your cop buddy can't give you this, huh? No, I'm the man.

I can fly, damn it. Straight out over Lake Michigan, tilt the body for a slow sweeping turn back toward the shore and...

The wind chills me as it rushes by, and it pushes me down, down toward the black churning water of the Lake. I'm falling in slow motion, spinning around and around. The stars are like a pinwheel before my eyes. It's incredible. It's so beautiful, and it's so...*cold*. Fuck, that hurt! I think I cracked a rib or two.

"Ahhh! Fuck!" Okay, screaming is bad because water goes in the mouth. Stop panicking, Ray. You won't die! What the fuck...? Whose voice is that in my head? It sounds like the Mountie. I've never even spoken to him, but I'm hearing his voice? Been thinking about him too much, I guess.

Don't panic, he says. Yeah right. I don't want to drown and I'm sinking. Sinking into the cold deep. Dark and silent, except for the blood pounding in my ears like it's trying to escape.

Cold nasty water burns down my throat and in my nose. Don't wanna drown, don't wanna die. Don't panic, Ray.

Don't panic, okay I can do that or *not* do that. I just need to calm down, stop flailing around, open my eyes, and try to figure out which way is up. Ow, that burns. And it's all darkness anyway. I might as well have kept my eyes closed.

My feet hit something that I don't want to wonder about, and it hits me that I should push. So I push off with all my strength and I shoot in the direction I desperately hope is *up*. My head breaks free of the surface and the air rushes into my lungs. For a precious golden second, I can breathe again, then the water rushes back in and I start to sink. I'm kicking and flapping my arms by instinct, and my head stays up so I must be doing something right. I don't care how stupid I undoubtedly look. I can see the edge of the lake a couple dozen feet in front of me.

The concrete retaining wall is really not so far away. I can get there... somehow. I know I can. Okay, this kicking and flapping thing is keeping me up, so how can I make it take me forward? Maybe stop flapping and just kick. No, then the head goes under.

What if I kinda flap in front of my body and kick behind at the same time? Yeah, oh yeah. We've got some movement here. All right!

So eventually I reach the shallow water by the wall. It feels like it took hours, but I tell myself and my aching body that it was only a couple of minutes. Pulling myself up onto the top of the wall is not as easy as it would have been from dry land, but I manage it somehow.

I think I'll just lie here and gasp for a minute. Yeah, that's good. Now I'll try a deep breath... which hurts like a son of a bitch. Okay, we'll go back to gasping. That was working pretty well.

I'm lying here staring up at the stars. The water, that soaks my clothes and drips off into an ever-widening puddle, smells disgusting. One of the drawbacks to this vampire thing is that I can pick out some of the individual odors now, and...oh yuck, I'd rather not think about it. The wind is blowing across me as if it's determined to turn me into a Popsicle. I know I should be getting up and heading home, or at least getting away from here before someone comes to investigate all the racket I've probably been making. But all I can think about...the *one* thing on my mind as I watch the tiny pinpricks of light in the sky is flying.

I was flying. I flew. I have flown. Maybe it was only a couple of minutes, but I did fly and it was fantastic. Maybe the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't even tell anybody. But *I* know, and that's enough for now.

I may have to try it again some time...when it's warmer.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Temptation Waits  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: Due South  
Category: Vampire Alternate Universe  
Pairing: Fraser/RayK  
Rating: NC-17  
Date: September 8, 2000  
Sequel/Series: Sequel to "Left Turn" and "Learning to Fly", which you pretty much have to have read for this to make sense.  
Disclaimers: The characters you recognize belong to Alliance and whoever else owns Due South. The others-- *minor* characters of other vampires and police personnel-- are my own creation. Some lines from Burning Down the House have been used either as written in the show or changed slightly (or a lot), and I borrowed a couple of lines from Asylum (but since this is an AU, they never would have been spoken otherwise). Basically, I've wreaked all kinds of havoc on BDtH and other bits of the S3 timeline. Don't let the size of this thing fool you into thinking there's a big complicated plot.  
Warnings: Nothing that isn't covered above by "Category", "Rating", and "Pairing".  
Notes: This is the sequel to a story I wrote nearly a year ago, and it took nearly that long to finish. It involved many rewrites, many story blocks, and much support and beta-type stuff from Melissa, Nicole S, Lori J, Olympia, Kat, and Gemma (and all my friends who listened to me complain about the blocks without killing me ;-). This is dedicated to anyone who read the first one and asked about a sequel and for Zen...again...just because.

* * *

********  
I'll tell you something  
I am a wolf but I like to wear sheep's clothing  
I am a bonfire, I am a vampire  
I'm waiting for my moment...  
\--from Temptation Waits by Garbage  
********

Walking into the station house set every nerve in Ray's body on edge. He was not the same man who'd walked out of here a few days ago. He had changed so completely that he was sure it was written all over him. Didn't matter that his clothes, hair, and face were the same. In the very core of him, a change had taken place and he still wasn't sure how he was going to work his schedule around it. What kind of cop couldn't investigate during the daytime?

"Vampire Cop" sounded like a television show or a B-movie starring some former kick boxer. It did not sound like a life. Or the life Ray used to have, anyway. It did sum up his current situation quite well, but he was dealing with the changes as best as he could.

Ray had come to wrap up the last of his paperwork on the drug ring he'd helped to bust while he was undercover. Between the extremely solid case they'd built and his undercover status, he most likely wouldn't be called to testify in court, which was a huge relief. He was still learning the ins and outs of this vampire business, so he hadn't yet figured out a way to move about in the daytime without becoming a crispy critter. He would have asked Trevor, but the son of a bitch had skipped out after giving Ray a quick rundown of life as a bloodsucking fiend.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad, once he got past that avoiding the sunlight thing. He was faster, stronger, could see perfectly without his glasses, and never had to go to the grocery store unless he ran out of coffee. At times he wondered if he might be in some sort of shock that made the whole thing easier to take. If so, he hoped he never snapped out of it because he'd probably lose it in a big way. On the bright side, those padded, rubber rooms in the loony bin didn't have windows, or at least Ray didn't think so.

Settling at the desk he shared with another detective, Ray finished up his reports, being extra careful to make sure that every detail was accurate and spelled right. He didn't want to be called back to work because he didn't cross a 't' or dot an 'i'. He had time off coming and he was taking it.

  
Lieutenant Jacobs readily agreed that Ray deserved a break, which immediately put him on guard. He squirmed in the uncomfortable wooden chair and stared at his boss. "What's the catch?"

The lieutenant smiled sheepishly and rubbed his hand over his thinning grey hair, and Ray recognized that he was about to be talked into something. "Well, you're being considered for a special assignment. It'll be your decision, of course, but we have decided you're the best man for the job."

Ray let out a long breath, and looked down at his hands. He appreciated the compliment but knew it was not given freely. He had to ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he did have to ask about the assignment. It would be expected, and on rare occasions Ray tried to do what was expected of him, if for no other reason than to keep people off balance. "So what's the job?"

"The FBI has handpicked one of our local detectives to go undercover in a certain Las Vegas crime family because of his uncanny resemblance to one of that family's more influential members. It will be a dangerous assignment, and the brass has decided that to keep that detective's cover intact here in Chicago, another cop will take his place. That would be you."

For a moment Ray sat stunned. This seemed like a perfect opportunity for advancement, yet all he could think of was--"Would I have to change shifts? Because I've gotten so used to working nights that I don't want to change."

Lieutenant Jacobs looked nonplussed, as if that was the last thing he expected Ray to ask. He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "I don't know how flexible they want to be with this. If the guy works days, you may have to do it too. Look, Ray, I'll have to talk to the Captain and get back to you. It'll be a couple of weeks until the switch anyway. Nothing is finalized yet."

"Okay then. Do I still get my time off?" Ray slid to the edge of the chair and planted his hands on the arms in preparation for standing. He was anxious to get moving again. He had another place to go tonight, and he wanted to get it over with.

"Yes, of course. I'll call you when the final details are ironed out."

Ray nodded and made his escape from the office. He went back to his desk and cleared out anything personal, for some reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. It just seemed like the thing to do, so he did it.

He walked out of the station with a much lighter step than he'd gone in with. He would be getting the distance that he so desperately needed right now.

***

 Although the cold air of approaching winter didn't bother him, Ray pulled his jacket close around him as he stepped into the alley. It was purely an instinctive reaction, ultimately useless as a protective measure. He'd had a life altering experience that had begun in an alley quite similar to this one. If there were any other options, he wouldn't be here at all, but he had run out of supplies. He had to go stock up again, and all he had was a contact name and directions to a secret place behind a butcher shop.

For a moment, Ray paused and almost went back to the street. He was tempted to just take what he needed from some passed out wino or junkie. They wouldn't even miss it. He didn't have to go into an unknown situation just to get some blood-to-go. But he needed to explore all his options, and all things considered, this seemed a much safer alternative. His paranoia had already been fairly well developed by his years as a cop, so it could only be heightened by this vampire business.

He wasn't ready to give up that caution yet, so he kept one hand inside his jacket on the gun in his shoulder holster as he trudged down the dark alley. The second gun was a comforting weight in his boot. The department frowned on back-up pieces--too tempting to drop one next to the dead body of a formerly fleeing suspect--but most cops Ray knew had them anyway. And Ray was still a cop. He may have to remind himself occasionally, but he was.

  
The door was nondescript heavy steel, painted dark brownish red that blended with the brick of the building. A person of average night vision would probably walk right by without noticing its presence. On one side of the door, discarded boxes and bits of ripped cardboard teetered in a precarious pile, and on the other side, large wheeled trashcans, one of them filled with nothing but glass bottles, sat undisturbed in a row. The scene struck Ray as queer--the scavengers should have made off with the bigger boxes for shelter and the glass to sell for recycling. Ray realized he'd seen no homeless people in the area at all, but this was the type of neighborhood that should have been crawling with them. Very queer.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out sharply, Ray cracked his neck and knocked on the door, hitting twice with the side of the fist, not the knuckles. A small panel in the door slid open at eye level and a deep male voice said, "State your business."

"Trevor sent me. Said to ask for Len." Ray spoke calmly as if his insides weren't twitching like a speed freak in a police lineup. The panel slid shut with no reply, and the door remained closed. He wondered for a moment if he'd failed some kind of test, but then he heard the scrape and click of multiple locks being unbolted.

"Welcome, brother." A large leather-clad man with very short grey-speckled brown hair greeted Ray with a friendly smile, and surprise kept him from taking an instinctive step back. "I can tell by your accent that you're not new to town, so you must be just...new."

Ray cleared his throat and attempted a smile. "Yeah, Trevor sent me."

"You said that already. You mean Trevor *made* you. Hah! That boy's got no control." The man stepped back and motioned Ray inside, then frisked him impersonally. He held up both of Ray's weapons and said, "I'm Roland, and I'll be keeping these until you leave."

"I'm a cop. Ray K--" Ray started to show his badge, but the man was already moving away toward a set of stairs.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ray. Follow me." Roland spoke over his shoulder as he led Ray down the stairs to a hallway lit only with a couple of small wall lamps. Opening one of the three doors that opened off the hall and ushering Ray through, he continued, "Len will fix you up."

"Thanks," Ray murmured absently, as he found himself in a room that could have passed for any liquor store, except that most of the stock was refrigerated. Three walls were lined with glass cases, filled with bottles of various sizes, some single and some in six packs. In the middle of the floor, two sets of shelves stood, holding bottles of wine, rum, vodka, scotch, bourbon, and a few more exotic looking liqueurs. The fourth wall held the door and checkout counter, where a nondescript bald man waited with a smile that could have shown patient friendliness or the fake interest of a really good salesman. Ray couldn't read the man as well as he thought he should.

"Have a look around," the man offered in an indistinguishable European accent. "When you've got what you want, I'll ring you up. Cash, charge or debit cards only. No checks."

Ray nodded and circled the room, inspecting the contents of the different cases. None of labels on the bottles gave any indication of what was truly inside, but small cards affixed to the front of the shelves gave the contents--some were purely the blood of one animal, with breeds of cow and pig being the most common types, but most were blends. Ray's tastes were too new to be specific, so he finally settled on a couple of six packs of the same brand that Trevor had given him, and took them over to the check out.

"So you're one of Trevor's, yes? I'm Len, by the way. Don't think I introduced myself earlier." Len rang up Ray's purchases on a state of the art computerized register, presenting him with a total not much higher than real beer would have cost him. Ray handed over cash, and the storekeeper gave him his change with a smile. "You ever need anything just give me a call. I've known Trevor for a long time in a lot of different places, and while he's great at giving birth, he's a failure at child rearing."

"Giving birth?" Ray had a vision of men having babies that was so horrifying his testicles tried to crawl up into his abdominal cavity, but he shook it off as ridiculous when Len explained.

"Turning new vampires. He likes to make them, but usually loses interest and leaves them to fend for themselves. One time in Mazatlan, must have been around 1923 or '24, he neglected to tell the girl what he'd done and she wandered right out into the sunrise, not knowing any better. Burst into a spectacular conflagration, she did. It was all the townspeople could talk about the next night and as soon as I heard, I asked him about it. He shrugged and said that he'd forgotten to mention it." Len shook his head and sighed. "Well, obviously he's doing better these days if he gave you my card."

"Yeah, he told me a lot of...uh, stuff," said Ray, wondering how in the hell the girl couldn't tell what had happened to her. Since he was in no mood to hear that particular name again, Ray changed the subject with a more general question. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Do you have a job?" Ray nodded as Len pulled a business card from a holder on the counter and held it out. "Doctor Swenson can provide you with medical documentation regarding the allergy to sunlight you have suddenly developed. He's a well-respected doctor and researcher. He's also one of us. Call him and tell him I referred you. He'll see you as soon as possible."

"Thank you." Tucking the card away in his jacket pocket, Ray gathered up his sack and headed for the door. "It's been an experience, but...um, I gotta go."

"Yes, okay. Come back any time. And stay out of the sun! Heh heh."

Ray stepped out into the hallway just as Roland came out of the opposite door. Ray looked past the other man and got a quick impression of smoke, pale golden lights, and quiet music. "Hey, Roland. What's in there?"

The big man shut the door firmly behind him and answered, "That's the lounge. It's for our people to have a place to hang out away from mortals. Ordinarily, you'd be more than welcome to stop by for a drink, but there's a private party tonight."

Ray's curiosity about anything grew in direct proportion to that object's unavailability, but he held his questions and promised himself he'd come back soon. He let Roland escort him to the door and give back his guns, which he quickly checked and returned to their proper positions.

As he walked back to his car, Ray cradled his bag to his chest and wondered what to do next. He'd been so preoccupied with work and 'grocery shopping' that he'd not made any plans for the rest of the night. The image of the Mountie floated through his mind, and for the first time all week, Ray let it settle instead of chasing it away.

Benton Fraser of the RCMP, Ray rolled the name silently over his tongue. He still remembered the man's address. He could go by the place, maybe catch another glimpse of the man who'd captured his eye--and other parts-- so firmly a week ago. Ray had thought of the Mountie often, wondered what his story was, but he hadn't asked around his division or tried to find out about the detective the Mountie had been with that night. He'd planned--wanted-- to ask, but he didn't want to draw any attention to himself or his interest in the Mountie. Ray had tried not to think of the man at all, but the thoughts had crept up on him when he was distracted or asleep.

Oh yeah, sleeping was the worst, because Ray had never learned the knack of controlling his dreams. Nearly every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Mountie or even more often heard his voice. So smooth, so polite, it soothed Ray's nerves and made his heart race at the same time. That couldn't be good, could it?

The dreams always started with the voice, then progressed quickly to sweaty bodies rolling around in Ray's bed. He'd have Mountie Fraser naked and slicked up so nice, whimpering-eager for Ray to fuck that undoubtedly perfect ass. The dreams usually slowed to a virtual crawl at that point, where each moment would last a lifetime. Every time, Ray would come but hold Fraser back so that he'd still be ready to go when Ray pulled out and rolled over onto his back. Ray would then spread his legs, raise his knees, and let Fraser do the one thing that Stella never could. Fuck him until he passed out. And while the pleasure was intense, Ray always woke up feeling disappointed that he never got to see Fraser come. Not once.

Unlocking his car and stowing his package in the backseat floorboard, Ray sat in the driver's seat, considering his options, and came to a quick decision. Maybe he'd drive by there on his way home after all. Fraser's apartment wasn't that far out of his way, a couple of miles at the most.

***

There it was, 231, and Fraser's apartment was right about-- Ray scanned the third floor until he saw a set of windows that appeared lit by candle or lantern light--*there*. He wondered whether the Mountie had forgotten to pay his electric bill or if maybe he was getting romantic with his honey.

There was one way to find out. Ray went behind the buildings across the street from Fraser's, and found a fire escape. He quickly climbed to the roof of the pool hall and went over to the front so that he could see right into Fraser's apartment. His view was aided by his position being at a slight diagonal, which gave him a wider angle of the apartment than being straight across the street would have. The man apparently had no curtains, and his shades were rolled all the way up to the top of the window, further clearing Ray's view.

Ray had been right about the light. The apartment was lit by a small lamp and Coleman lantern, which the Mountie seemed to be using to read a small leather bound book. He was sitting on a narrow bed with his back propped against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. With the red uniform hanging neatly on a hook on the wall, Fraser was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Even dressed casually and lounging on his bed, Fraser looked neater than Ray did when he was dressed up to go to court.

Ray was both relieved and confused that the soft light wasn't for seduction purposes. He wanted Fraser to himself, yet a guy that good looking couldn't possibly be unattached. He had to have a girl--or boy--friend somewhere. Maybe his sweetie was out of town or they had a fight or something. No way was this prime specimen of a man just walking around loose. With a face like that, he probably got offers every day.

Ray could think of plenty of things to offer him. Unfortunately, those things weren't necessarily something the guy would want, especially if he was the straight arrow he appeared to be. Hell, half the things Ray might offer would be illegal in all of Canada and a good portion of the Midwest.

Ray was jolted out of his thoughts when a big white and grey wolf-looking dog walked into view inside the apartment. It leaped onto the bed, putting its paws on Fraser's chest and tilting its head in silent communication. Fraser set the book carefully aside and appeared to speak a few words that made the dog jump to the floor. It went to wait by the door while Fraser swung his legs over the side of the bed and put on a pair of boots.

"Taking the doggy for a walk, huh?" Ray watched the subject of his stakeout pull on a leather jacket, set the Mountie hat on his head, and leave the apartment with the dog, appearing on the street a couple of minutes later. "Don't mind if I tag along, do ya? No, of course not. You'll never know I'm here."

The dog seemed to be in no hurry to do its business. It wandered down the sidewalk sniffing at every little thing, stopping for a pat on the head from a child whose mother pulled him away sharply once she got a good look at the dog. A few words and a smile from Fraser had her changing her attitude in no time. Ray figured the woman would eventually give him the kid if Fraser kept giving her that smile. It was polite and trustworthy and hotter than hell. It was a smile that wrapped itself around your insides and squeezed painfully tight while you thanked it for the experience, and Ray wanted one of his own. He wanted the Mountie to smile at him like that just once.

But not tonight. Ray wasn't quite ready for it yet, so he remained on the roofs, just following and watching as Fraser and his dog made their way down the street, after a few blocks turning around and heading for home. Ray continued to watch as the man and dog returned to the apartment. The dog promptly curled up and went to sleep, while the man stripped down to light red long johns and climbed into bed. When he picked up the book and started to read again, Ray decided he'd had enough for one night. He was about to move from the realm of harmless fantasy to the land of self-torture, and he really wasn't up for that on a windy roof where he might be interrupted at any moment. He'd save it for later when he was tucked into his own bed, where he could jerk off in comfort and privacy.

He took the rooftops back to the street where he'd parked, preferring not to have to deal with any people at the moment. When he got to his car, he checked to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be and then drove home to make an appointment with the doctor that Len-the-bloodseller had told him about.

***

The sun was just going down three days later when Lieutenant Jacobs called Ray back to the station house. Since he'd been up for a couple of hours, Ray was already dressed, fed, and ready to go.

When Ray was admitted to his boss's office, he found two other men waiting, middle aged men cut from the same cloth as Jacobs. Lieutenant Jacobs quickly introduced Captain James Alvarado, who would be coordinating the undercover effort, and Lieutenant Harding Welsh, who would be Ray's new shift commander.

After handshakes and greetings and nice-to-meet-you's were passed around, everyone took a seat and Jacobs pushed a tall stack of files to the middle of his desk. "Detective Kowalski, we've reviewed the paperwork from your doctor, and we ran into a slight problem." The lieutenant nodded to the captain, who took over.

"The 27th doesn't have a second shift of detectives. As you may know, some precincts have them and some don't, largely due to budgetary constraints and perceived need. But after careful consideration, it has been decided to give the 27th precinct a second shift." Captain Alvarado looked at Welsh and then back to Ray and explained, "At first there will only be you, your...uh, unofficial partner, and another pair of detectives on this second shift. You all will be working under Lieutenant Welsh for the time being because the current budget cannot support another shift commander."

When Ray finally spoke, it was to address the main thing that had snagged his attention during the Captain's speech. "My *unofficial* partner? What's that all about?"

Alvarado and Jacobs both looked at Lieutenant Welsh with identical I'm-glad-it's-you-and-not-me smiles on their faces. Ray started to get nervous. What kind of guy was he replacing? They didn't have detectives in K-9 units, did they?

Welsh took the top file off the stack and handed it to Ray. "This is the detective whose life you will be taking over. And this is...his partner. More or less." He placed another file in front of Ray. "We know that it's a bit unorthodox, but they do solve cases--"

Ray was vaguely aware of the lieutenant's voice continuing to speak, but he didn't understand another word the man said. His whole world had narrowed to a three by five black and white photograph paperclipped to the first page in the folder. Ray had only seen the man a few times, but he recognized him right away. This was the cop from the alley that night. The balding guy in the flashy suit and green Buick. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the sick certainty that hit him. He didn't have to open the other file because he knew exactly what, or rather *who* he'd find inside.

Silently panicking at what they were asking of him, he stared at the page in front of him until the picture began to blur. He took a deep breath and tried to look outwardly calm, but inside he was shaking so hard he wondered why his teeth didn't rattle. He glanced over the vital statistics next to the photograph, and then looked up at his lieutenant. "Why do they want me for this job? I don't look anything like this...Raymond Vecchio."

While it was the Captain that answered, Ray kept his eyes on his current boss, who was serving as his lifeline right now. "We didn't find anybody suitable who did, so we decided to go with our best undercover man."

Ray almost snorted at that because he didn't believe it for a minute. The grave looks on the faces of the three older men dissuaded him from voicing his contention. He could not argue with his superiors on something like this. Anything else he could, but not this.

Sitting in a small, overcrowded office in an uncomfortable chair, Ray suddenly started to believe in predestination, or fate, whatever. He knew this was what he was supposed to do, even though the reasonable part of his mind told him to just stand up, throw his shield on the desk, and walk out. He could even refuse the assignment without quitting altogether. He could tell them thanks but no thanks, find someone else. But he couldn't.

Without so much as glancing at the second file, Ray nodded at his boss and then at the other two men. "All right, I'll do it. When do I start?"

"You've got nearly two weeks until you have to step into Vecchio's shoes." Lieutenant Jacobs shoved the rest of the files toward Ray, and said, "You'll not be working any new cases, but you will have Vecchio's case files to study and a few people to talk to. I'll give you a list of names and numbers and what their relationship to Vecchio is. It will be up to you to figure out what questions to ask."

Jacobs smiled at him with an almost paternal gleam in his dark eyes. "Ray, I have every confidence that you can do this."

Ray smiled for the first time since he'd walked through the door, and nodded. "From your mouth to God's ear, Lou. I hope you're right."

***

Ray took home two large boxes of files. They were divided into two groups: cases that Vecchio had worked before Fraser, many of which were still open and cases that Vecchio had worked after Fraser, most of which were closed. He set the boxes on his dining table and left the apartment. He was technically on his own time so he was going to do what he wanted before he got to work.

And right now he wanted some coffee.

  
The Dale Restaurant was a smallish, brightly-lit diner, and the coffee was surprisingly good. It was, not coincidentally, also in the Mountie's neighborhood, which paid off as Ray was stirring sugar into his second cup.

Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio walked in and sat down in a booth by the wall, still carrying on with their conversation. Ray turned slightly so that he could watch them from the corner of his eye, as he unashamedly listened to them.

"Yeah, Benny, it does sound great. I almost wish I was going with you."

"Well, Ray, you know you're more than welcome to come--"

"Almost! I said *almost*." Vecchio laughed, but spoke with a warmth in his voice that was far too obvious to Ray's sensitive ears. "You'll have a great time being alone in the wilderness, and seeing all your Inuit and Mountie buddies. I guess Dief will go completely wild having all that room to run."

"He misses the wilderness terribly. Wolves are not city creatures."

Ray wondered if Vecchio could hear that Fraser was not talking about his dog...or wolf, whatever, as clearly as Ray could. The longing in the other man's voice almost broke his heart, but the realization that Fraser was leaving Chicago, at least for a while, hit even harder. Throwing some bills on the counter next to his cup, Ray stood up to leave.

When he got to the door, Ray paused and looked back at Fraser to fix the image of him in his mind. Instead of the fancier red uniform, the Mountie was wearing a serviceable brown one that made him look much more real, less superhero-ish. Ray decided he liked it much better because, although the red one was sexy, the brown uniform made Fraser look touchable yet very tough. And sexy, of course, but the man really couldn't help that. Hell, even those ridiculous Dr. Denton-looking long johns had been sexy when Fraser wore them. Ray had never had any particular uniform fetish, but it was never too late to develop one. He just hoped he'd have a chance to do so.

Almost laughing at the bizarre turn his thoughts had taken, Ray walked out into the night. He had stacks of work waiting for him, and mooning around after his future partner was not going to get it done. He had to fight the urge to hang around long enough to see if Fraser went home alone or if Vecchio went with him. The thought that the two men might be more than friends sent an irrational bolt of jealousy through him. Just because Ray had felt a strong attraction from the first moment he'd heard his voice didn't mean Fraser belonged to him--in any way, shape or form.

They were strangers. Fraser was a stranger. A stranger that Ray would have to pretend was his friend and partner. He had no idea just how he was going to pull this off.

***

Ray put off opening the last file until he had memorized or at least familiarized himself with all the others. It had taken him days to make it through the boxes of files, but he'd resisted the siren call of the one file that he'd kept separate, lying in the middle of his coffee table like an untouchable centerpiece.

He'd picked up bits of Fraser from all over Vecchio's cases, but now he was faced with the complete story. Or as complete a story as one could get from official words on official paper. He knew there was so much more than ever got written down. Some things could not *be* written down, either officially or not. Words would not do them justice.

With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Ray sat at his desk, turned on the reading lamp out of habit, and flipped open the last file. He fell headfirst into the story of a man who came to a city thousands of miles from home. Came to a city that was cold and unkind and utterly alien to him just to find the men who had murdered his father. He'd brought those men to justice at great cost to his career, and had stayed in Chicago to catch even more bad guys. Along the way, he'd gained the devoted friendship of Raymond Vecchio and the respect of the Chicago Police Department.

Ray closed his eyes and wondered how on earth he could pull this off. This 'assignment' was starting to feel more like a kamikaze mission. Maybe going up in flames was part of this whole destiny thing he'd so recently begun to believe in.

After taking a moment to settle himself, he started over at the beginning. He had to admit this made for a more interesting read than most of the books on the best sellers list.

When he got to the part about Victoria Metcalf, Ray took down the small, framed picture of Stella and him at the dance competition from the top of his desk. Seeing the way they were smiling into each other's eyes didn't hurt quite as much now as it had right after she left. Her leaving had just about killed him, but he'd held that picture every night for a month while he missed her too bad to cry about it. Now he could smile and be glad that as much as she'd hurt him, Stella had never tried to deliberately make him suffer. She had never turned evil and tried to destroy him. Strange thing to be grateful for, but there it was. He almost felt like calling her on the phone and thanking her, except that she wouldn't appreciate being woken up at four a.m. for anything less than a life or death situation. There weren't going to be any of those as far as he was concerned, not anymore.

He could feel himself beginning to let go of Stella. He'd known all along that it was over and it was time to move on, but he hadn't *felt* it yet. He wondered if he ran into Stella right now how he'd react. Would he get that longing ache to have her back? He'd loved her longer than he hadn't. All of his adult life had been connected with Stella, and when she'd left he'd been completely at sea. How could he be just him when he'd been a part of Ray-and-Stella for so many years? But he'd done it. For months, he'd kept reaching for her in the middle of the night, and expecting her to just be there at other times. Eventually he had stopped doing that, and now he was starting to build a life for himself that was not conditional on getting Stella back.

He'd even been out on a few dates. The very idea of dating anyone but Stella had been completely foreign at first, but he'd slowly gotten used to the idea. He hadn't quite worked up to dancing with another woman, though. That was his and Stella's thing, and he couldn't do it with just anyone yet.

Maybe that's why it had been easier with men-- there were no expectations of the type of romance he'd shared with Stella. He'd really only experimented a bit, going to bars and fooling around a little, until Trevor. He'd done things with Trevor that he'd only dreamed about, and the physical part had been surprisingly easy, even if part of his own reactions had been emotionally jarring. Things had eventually fallen into place. He wondered if that was a by-product of the weirdness they shared or if he could have the same thing with another man. A man like Benton Fraser, for instance.

Ray told himself that he had to stop thinking like that. The man was probably straight as a stick, his closeness to his partner and terrible luck with women notwithstanding. He shook his head regretfully, and returned Stella's picture to its rightful spot. He closed up the file and was not really surprised to notice that daylight was seeping in around the very edges of the curtains. Good thing he kept them closed all the time or he might have been a crispy critter by now.

Standing up for a good spine popping stretch, he decided to go to bed. He'd go over the files again when he woke up this afternoon, and then start doing interviews.

***

That morning Ray dreamed of blood. Rivers of blood, oceans of it. So much blood he was drowning in it. So much blood it ceased to have meaning, like a word repeated over and over becomes nonsensical.

The maroon color that surrounded him started to bend and twist, lightening and morphing into the brighter vermilion shade of the distinctive red serge. Fraser was there and Trevor had him. Trevor's arm was wrapped around Fraser's middle, his hand clenched around the Mountie's throat. Ray froze in panic, muscles locked in conflict. He wanted to save Fraser, but he didn't want to hurt Trevor. He felt pulled and torn in opposite directions.

Ray's fangs dug into his lower lip until his own blood flowed over his tongue, and down his throat. It was like the kisses he shared with Trevor, thick-slick and nourishing. Intensifying his hunger rather than feeding it. Ray closed his eyes and felt soft lips on his, an impossibly hot mouth burning him. The kisses tasted of sweetness and something wild. He opened his eyes and stared at Fraser as Trevor's laughter filled his ears. He reached out his hands, ready to lunge at Trevor and take Fraser from him, but the blood returned in a big, sweeping wave that knocked him off his feet. As the blood washed him away, he could hear Fraser calling for him, calling for help, and Trevor still laughing.

  
Ray awoke with a start. The thirst burning the back of his throat was almost unbearable. He hadn't been this hungry since that very first night. He dragged himself from the bed and went to the kitchen. Feeling much too hungry to be picky, he popped open a bottle and drank the contents cold. He still wasn't satisfied, but it was enough for now.

After a long hot shower, Ray sat down at his desk and started to read through the files again. Images from the nightmare kept drifting through his mind, distracting him from his task. He couldn't concentrate on memorizing all these names and places and crimes when his mind kept drifting. He finally closed his eyes and tried to remember all of the details of the dream that he could. Maybe piecing together the parts would make some picture that would give him a clue about the dream's meaning.

Or maybe there was no meaning in it at all. Maybe it was one of those wacky vampire things, and he should just forget it. It was definitely a vampire thing since the main ingredient was blood, but what was Fraser doing there? Did he have some inner fear that Trevor would take Fraser from him? The idea seemed pretty far-fetched considering Trevor had disappeared weeks ago. There was no reason to believe that Trevor knew anything about Fraser.

Ray opened his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. He wasn't getting anywhere this way. It was just a dream and brooding over it wouldn't do any good. He also wasn't going to get any work done sitting around here like this.

After feeding and watering his turtle, Ray fixed himself a warm mug of blood and sipped at it as he looked over the list of people he was supposed to call. The liquid nourishment just wasn't quite as satisfying coming from a cup as it usually was. Although it had been rather horrifying overall, the dream had reminded Ray how much better human blood was, especially coming straight from a live warm body. That thought should be as disgusting as anything but for some reason it wasn't--which puzzled Ray but didn't worry him too much. He was adaptable and that's what made him good undercover. He took advantage of the good breaks he received and worked around the bad ones. Not always successfully, but enough to get by.

Deciding to start at the top and work his way down, Ray called Mrs. Vecchio and asked if he could come that evening to ask her some questions about her son. She already knew about the impending charade so she readily agreed. After politely avoiding the dinner invitation, he wrote down the directions to the house and hung up the phone.

  
After knocking on the door of the comfortable two-story house on Octavia, Ray smiled politely as a comfortably middle aged lady answered. "Good evening, Mrs. Vecchio. I'm Ray Kowalski."

"You're not Italian." Mrs. Vecchio smiled as if she hadn't meant to blurt that out and said, "Well, I knew your name, of course, but I thought perhaps your mother...?"

"No. Uh...I'm sorry, ma'am." Ray suddenly felt bad for disappointing this woman, whom he didn't even know. He followed her inside, where she went straight to the kitchen.

"But you're such a polite boy. Your mother must be very proud." Ray shrugged and sat at the table where she indicated. What could he possibly say to that? He really didn't want to talk about his parents, hadn't wanted to think about them at all in the last few weeks. But he continued to make his absent mother proud with his good manners as Mrs. Vecchio introduced her two pretty dark-eyed daughters and her not-so-pretty son-in-law.

As the last one of the younger Vecchios drifted back to whatever they were doing before his arrival, it hit him that he would have to pretend to be a part of this family for an indeterminate period of time. For an only child, mostly estranged from his parents, this was disconcerting to say the least.

He accepted a cup of coffee and pulled out his notebook. "Now Mrs. Vecchio, I'd like--"

"What's this Mrs. Vecchio? You'll call me "Ma" if you're supposed to be my Raimondo. Are you sure you wouldn't like to have a little something to eat, Ray? There's minestrone left over from supper. Let me fix you a bowl."

"No, please, I couldn't." The very idea turned his stomach. "I just ate before I came."

"But you're so thin!" Mrs. Vecchio shook her head at him and pushed the sugar bowl a little closer. "Are you Catholic?"

"No, I'm not--"

"Granted, my son doesn't go to Mass nearly as often as he should, but he does go with the family on occasion. You're welcome to come along anyway--it certainly won't hurt."

Ray wasn't actually sure about that, but he'd test it out on his own some night. Either way, he couldn't be going to any Sunday morning services. He thought about giving Mrs. Vecchio the sunlight allergy story, but decided to save it for later, using it only if it was really necessary. The lady didn't seem to need much in the way of replies from him, so he ignored the questions he'd scribbled out and just let her talk.

"You really don't look at all like my son. They didn't have a policeman who looked more like him? Well, I'm sure you're a very *good* policeman, and you're a handsome boy, but... It's just strange, isn't it?"

Ray nodded and shrugged. He'd wondered the same things himself, but he was committed to the job now, so he couldn't let it matter at this point. He had to go on as if it did make sense. It was the only way he could get though this assignment--not unlike the rest of his life.

For the next couple of hours, Mrs. Vecchio talked about her son, the schools he went to, the church he was baptized and confirmed in, sports he was good at, how he treated his sisters, and anything else she could think of. She told him so many stories about all of her children and other relatives that by the time he walked out of the house, Ray almost felt like he actually was a Vecchio.

Sitting in the silence of his car, Ray laughed quietly to himself. This would certainly be the most *interesting* assignment he'd ever had.

On his way home, he found himself driving down West Racine. He looked up at Fraser's dark windows as he passed, and shook his head at the vague longing he felt just to *see* the man. As if catching a glimpse of a figure in red serge would suddenly make everything feel right again. The clothes didn't even matter. He'd be happy to see Fraser in the brown uniform, the flannel and denim civvies, or nothing at all. That last option squeezed the breath from his lungs and tightened his shorts.

Ray had to quit thinking that way, because he would be working with the man very soon. He couldn't go around in a constant state of arousal. Not only would it be extremely uncomfortable, the Mountie was bound to notice that his partner popped a woody every time he walked into the room. He only had a few days until he had to start work at the 27th and only a few days after that Fraser would be back from his vacation.

***

Tuning out the sounds of uniforms coming and going and Jack Huey arguing with his new partner, Ray shuffled through the piles of papers and folders on Vecchio's-- *his* desk. The one file he needed was nowhere to be found. He'd already checked the file cabinet, so that left...

"Elaine! Hey, good, you're still here. You got that stuff on the Docklands?"

The Civilian Aide handed over some folders before the question was completely out of his mouth. "I was just about to drop it by on my way out the door."

"Thanks. See ya tomorrow." Ray smiled and winked at her and went back to work, cross-referencing details of a couple of cases he was almost certain were connected. He'd been working what looked like a simple hit-and-run, when something about it had twigged a memory of a warehouse robbery that Vecchio had been working right before he left. The trail was already cold but he didn't have anything else pressing at the moment.

"Ray!" The sound of the voice that Ray hadn't heard for weeks except in dreams brought his head up and before he realized what he was doing, he was on his feet, smile in place, stepping into the last untouched vestige of Ray Vecchio's life.

"Fraser! Buddy!" Trying to control his less noble impulses, Ray threw his arms around the man in red for a quick welcome home hug. "It's good to see you. Did you have a good time up there in the Northwest Areas?"

"You mean 'Territories'?" Fraser asked with a slightly stunned look on his face.

Ray walked back to his desk, started to gather up his files into some sort of order, and kept talking, mostly to fill the silence. "Wilderness, huh? Me, I leave the city I come down with this skin condition..."

Fraser interrupted politely, "I'm sorry. I'm looking for Detective Ray Vecchio."

"Yeah. You talked to Welsh, right?"

"Well, yes for just a moment, but--"

The lieutenant should have explained things already so what was the deal here? Ray glanced around at the dwindling evening traffic of the squad room, and said, "Then quit kidding around, Fraser. You know who I am."

"I assure you I am not kidding around."

"It hasn't been the same around here without you. I mean-- look at history and what do you have? Duets--" Ray started to give a rap on partnership that was half carefully chosen references and half free association, but the sight of another Mountie stopped him cold. "Wait a minute. Nobody told me there'd be *two* Mounties. That just screws up the whole a-partnership-is-a-duet dynamic."

The two men in matching red serge uniforms were looking at him but talking to each other. The older one said, "There's something not right about this one, son."

"Well, he's not Ray Vecchio as he claims to be." Fraser spoke in a low voice, out of the side of his mouth, as if he didn't want anyone to notice he was talking to the man next to him. Ray was beginning to think all those heroic deeds had shaken something loose inside the man's head.

"Ah, one Yank's much the same as another." The older man stared at Ray thoughtfully through narrowed eyes. "No, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something *off* about him."

Feeling impatient with being treated like an inanimate object, Ray said, "Well, *he* is not deaf, and who are you calling 'off', huh?"

Fraser appeared quite taken aback as he asked incredulously, "Do you mean...you can see and hear this man?"

"Sure. He's there. I see him. You're there. I see you." Ray shrugged in puzzlement at the bizarre question. "What's the big deal? Can't you see him?"

"Yes, but I'm usually the only one who can."

"What? Why?"

"He's been dead for two years." Still wearing a stunned look, Fraser continued to speak very quietly. "This is my father, Sergeant Robert Fraser."

Ray lifted his hand to offer a handshake, but what Fraser had just said sank in and he dropped his hand back to his side. He took an instinctive step back and tilted a sideways look at the old man standing just behind Fraser's shoulder. "I've been talking to a ghost? A *ghost*? Well, hell."

"It would appear so, yes." Fraser nodded and glanced from his father to Ray.

This was just too freaky weird. Ray staggered back a few feet and fell into his chair. The old man couldn't be a... Ray didn't *believe* in... Then he laughed under his breath. A month ago, he hadn't believed in vampires either. Okay, so not only did he have to work with a guy he had a...a lust-thing for, he also had the man's dead father hanging around as a chaperone. "Wonderful. That's just freakin'...*wonderful*."

Ray didn't quite know how to proceed from here. He'd been prepared to hide his real life from his new partner and live Vecchio's as much as he possibly could, but now he was beginning to wonder if he might be able to tell Fraser the truth. The ghost of his dead father was still hanging around so maybe having a vampire for a partner wouldn't be too much for him to handle. Ray'd have to take it slow, though, and get to know Fraser a bit more personally first so he could predict the Mountie's reaction to the news.

As Ray sat there, something warm and slightly damp touched the back of his hand, snuffling the skin and snapping his attention to the Mountie's pet, who'd just made its appearance. Ray's whole body tensed but he held his hand still and let the wolf get used to his smell. "Hey there...Dief...old buddy."

The wolf let out a sharp yip, and flopped down on the floor with a whine, rolling over to expose his throat and belly. Alarmed, Ray looked up at Fraser and asked, "What'd I do?"

"He's showing submission. He's never-- That's just an odd thing for him to do...especially under the circumstances."

"Well, could you make him stop? It's weirdin' me out, here."

"Diefenbaker...Diefenbaker! You can get up now." Fraser spoke to the wolf with calm exasperation, then pinned Ray to his chair with bright blue eyes. "He knows when things aren't as they should be."

Ray nodded slowly. "You *did* talk to Welsh, didn't you?"

"We said hello, and then he said he was busy with the IRS but he'd talk to me later."

"Ahh, there's your problem. You need to go talk to him *now*. Let him explain why I'm Ray Vecchio."

"But you're not--"

"Fraser! Just go talk to Welsh." Ray made little shooing motions with his hands then turned back to the piles of paper on his desk. As Fraser walked off to presumably find the lieutenant, Ray noticed that his father stayed behind, watching him with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. Ray tried to ignore the old man, but after a few minutes, he snapped, "Don't you have somebody else to haunt, Mister...uh, Sergeant..."

"Call me Bob." He gave a surprisingly friendly little smile. "And no, not at the moment."

Ray narrowed his eyes and thought about trying to get rid of him, but how could he get rid of a ghost? The man would just keep coming back, wouldn't he? Maybe he should try to use the situation to his advantage. He glanced around to make sure no one would see him talking to an empty space beside his desk. "So uhh...what's it like? Being...?

"Dead? Not too different from being alive, except that I can't eat, can't feel as much, can't talk to anyone but a few other dead people and Benton--and now you. I can't work, can't...oh. In short, it's actually nothing like being alive." He gave a nonchalant shrug. "But what can you do, eh?"

"Well, that would be the sixty-four thousand dollar question, wouldn't it?" Ray could certainly get behind the idea of making the best of whatever situation a man found himself in.

"Existentially speaking, you mean? Oh yes, I suppose so." The ghost Mountie continued to look at Ray with mildly suspicious interest, but Ray couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment so he went back to work until the live Mountie came back.

"Well...Ray, I'm fully apprised of the situation now, and I apologize for my earlier confusion." Fraser gave Ray a smile and little nod to let him know he was in on the replacement scheme.

"Well, that's good to know, Fraser, old buddy. Now you wanna give me a hand on this case tonight? I thought we could go poking around, talk to a few--" The ringing phone interrupted him and he snatched it up, saying, "Ray Vecchio."

The raspy voice on the other end of the line said, "It's a shame you left your electric blanket on, but at least your whole family will stay all toasty warm."

"What're you talking about my family? Who is this?"

"Never mind, Detective Vecchio. Tell your friend in red that he's next." And then, incredibly, Ray could hear the distinctive sound of a match striking...and it all clicked into place.

He pushed the disconnect button and called the Vecchio home. "Frannie, get everyone out of the house. Come on, Frannie, I don't have time to argue. Just do it, okay? We'll be right over."

"Ray, what is going on?" Fraser's voice, crisp yet concerned, soothed Ray's rattled nerves.

"I think someone just threatened to burn down my house."

"You mean the Vecchios' house?"

"Yeah, *my* house, Fraser. Get with the program." Grabbing his coat, Ray headed for the door and said, "Let's go see what's what."

"I am 'with the program', as you say. I just wished to be perfectly clear on exactly which house was in danger," Fraser clarified, as they ran downstairs and out the door to the back lot where a green Buick Riviera sat waiting.

"Now why am I not surprised?" Fraser asked, and Ray started to answer then realized it was probably one of those questions that didn't have an answer.

As soon as they got into the car and took off, Dief put his paws up on the back of the front seat as if to get a better view, but one sideways glance from Ray made the wolf lie down on the back seat.

"You have the most amazing effect on him," Fraser said, as they squealed around a corner. "There was a stop sign back there."

"We're going to a fire, for crying out loud." Ray shrugged. "So where'd Bob go?"

Fraser looked at Ray with exquisite surprise etched on his features. "Did you say 'Bob'?"

"Yeah, your old man. That's what he told me to call him. He's not gonna be hanging around everywhere we go, is he?"

"He comes and goes. Do you often see ghosts?"

Ray considered that for a moment, and came to the next logical question. Would he be seeing ghosts all over the place now? That would get real old real fast. "No, he's my first. Do you?"

"No, he's it." Fraser didn't get a chance to say anything else, because they were pulling up in front of the house. The small front yard, which was lit by every porch light on the street being on, was a minor chaos of Vecchios and various neighbors talking excitedly among themselves and milling around.

Francesca rushed up to Fraser, grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest. "Feel my heart, Fraser--it's going a hundred miles an hour. We caught an arsonist."

Ray stepped in between his pretend sister and his new partner. "Your heart's fine, Frannie. What do you mean you caught the arsonist?"

She frowned at him and said, "She's up on the porch with Ma. Now, Fraser--"

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a shout from Tony. Ray's fake brother-in-law waved his arms and yelled, "Hey, she's getting away!"

Ray turned to see Ma waving a cast iron skillet at the retreating back of a dumpy figure, which was moving at a surprisingly quick pace toward an old blue van parked on the street. Police sirens could be heard in the distance, getting closer, but the suspected torch had already gotten into the van and was pulling away. Ray ran for his car, yelling for Fraser who was running after the rapidly disappearing vehicle.

He slowed the car down enough for Fraser to open the door and jump inside. "Okay, Fraser, what's the deal here? You can try to burn down my place of employment. You could burn down my bowling alley, even my dance hall, but not my place of residence. That's going too far." Even though he didn't actually live there, Ray was incensed. It was the thought that counted.

"It could have something to do with a previous case, a copycat or someone out for revenge. We need to go back over our shared history and see what fits this scenario."

Ray broke off his mental shuffling of old cases when he suddenly remembered something. "The voice on the phone said you were next."

"Yes, we seem to be heading toward my apartment building, but surely, she knows that we will get there in time to stop her from actually setting fire to the building."

"Who knows? Maybe she's unhinged."

"Well, that's always a possibility, or perhaps she's got something else in mind..." Fraser's voice trailed off as the van slowed down to a crawl.

Out of habit, Ray hit the horn several times and instantly regretted it as smoke started to pour into the car's interior. "Fraser..." Ray didn't like the panic in his voice, but he couldn't seem to do anything about it. Hell, he *felt* panicky. "I gotta pull over. I don't care if she gets away."

"No, you can't, Ray. There're too many people around."

"The car's gonna blow, Fraser."

"It is very, very rare for a car to actually blow up, Ray, just--" the explosion cut off his next words. Coughing lightly, Fraser pointed through the smoke and encroaching flames and said, "That way. The lake they call Michigan."

Ray darted a glance through the fire-framed darkness and said, "Lake Michigan?"

"Yes, the lake they call Michigan."

"Lake Michigan."

Ray shook his head and drove for the water, ignoring both Fraser and Bob, who had just popped in, saying, "Well, this is exciting. The yank's doing okay so far, son."

The car flew over the edge of the dock and plunged into the inky waters of the lake, which extinguished the flames. Ray felt a bolt of fear unlike anything he'd experienced since the night he'd been changed. His success in the water after his one attempt at flying notwithstanding, he still didn't consider himself a swimmer. The water rushed in through the open windows and closed over Ray's head before he could even get his bearings. He started to struggle, kicking his feet, blindly trying to get free of the sinking car, but a hand caught his flailing arm and settled him down enough to open his eyes.

It was too dark to see anything, but he could feel Fraser looking at him, willing him to calmness. Ray shook off Fraser's hand and squirmed around until he could slide out the window. He kicked off the car and his head immediately broke the surface. He sucked in a deep breath and flailed around, in what could be called swimming only by someone rather vaguely familiar with the concept, until he grabbed hold of a support post. Climbing up onto the dock, Ray looked around frantically for Fraser and the wolf, and let out a strangled sigh of relief when he saw them scrambling up ahead of him.

Fraser hit the boards and jumped to his feet, and Ray could see a middle aged blonde closing in on him with a gun in her hand. He stumbled upright and seconded Fraser's demand. "Put the gun down."

"Zoltan Motherwell is a fine painter, a great artist." The woman aimed the gun at Fraser's chest. "And I'm carrying on his work."

"I said put the gun down." Ray didn't stop to consider what he was doing, just stepped in front of Fraser a second ahead of the bullet that slammed into his chest, spinning him around. The burst of fire in his flesh was followed by a blessed numbness as he sank to the ground in what felt like slow motion. In the dreamlike stillness, he watched Fraser take the gun from the woman and tie her hands with the little rope thing from his uniform. The tingling prickle in his chest let Ray know that the wound was already healing, but he'd need blood to replace what he'd lost.

The thought of blood spurred him to action. Climbing painfully to his feet, he pulled his overcoat close around him and thought that he'd never get away with the lie he was formulating if there were more working streetlights in the area and his clothes weren't so dark. Fraser turned around and appeared shocked to see Ray on his feet.

Ray grinned and tried not to look in Fraser's eyes as he said, "I'm okay. I'm wearing a vest."

"Very...ahem, very clever, Ray." Fraser smiled with what looked like genuine relief, and then cocked his head to one side. "Here come the police."

They stood there and looked down at the woman on the ground, and Ray thought about asking her why she was doing all this and then decided he didn't care. He just wanted to go home and feed. The hunger was growing, radiating up from the closing hole in his chest. He could feel his teeth itching, beginning to lengthen and sharpen. He couldn't allow it while he was working.

Secure in the knowledge that Fraser had the suspect more subdued than Ma had, Ray wandered off a little way and stared out at the crash debris floating on the water. For just a moment he felt bad for the real Ray Vecchio, but it passed quickly. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Fraser wasn't looking and then slipped his hand inside his coat. He rubbed his fingertips over his wet shirt, just above his right nipple. The skin was almost smooth again underneath the small hole in the cotton, but it still ached a little. He pulled his hand out and stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking off the traces of blood tainted by the taste of lake water.

"Ray." Fraser's voice had him spinning around to face the man framed by the flashing blue lights of two police cruisers. "Are you all right?"

Ray crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling fingers hard against his sides. His fangs were slightly distended so he nodded and gave Fraser a close-mouthed smile. As they walked over to the squad cars, Ray could feel Fraser giving him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his own gaze fixed firmly on the uniformed officers loading up the would-be arsonist for transport to the station.

The officers in the other car offered to take Ray and Fraser home so they could change into dry clothes, and the two wet men were quick to take them up on the offer. When they reached Ray's apartment building, Fraser got out right behind Ray and said to the cops, "Thank you kindly. I'll catch a ride with Detective Vecchio."

Ray stood on the sidewalk uncertainly, not really wanting to invite his new partner into his home, but having little choice in the matter. Fraser looked at him apologetically and said, "I'm sorry if I was presumptuous, but I wanted to make sure that you're okay."

Ray sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth, which felt more normal now. "Come on in."

As they went up to Ray's apartment, Fraser said, "I thought you said you lived with the Vecchios?"

"Officially, on paper, not in reality." Ray unlocked his door, keeping his face averted. The hunger was starting to return and he was afraid Fraser would be able to see it somehow. The man seemed too perceptive for Ray's comfort.

"So what is that getup? Wool? I'll bet it don't feel too good when it gets wet, huh? I can find something for you to put on." Ray was aware the he was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop trying to fill the silence. "Yeah, I can do that. Have a seat. Keep the wolf away from the turtle. Don't want some reenactment of Wild Kingdom in my living room."

"I assure you that Diefenbaker will not harm your pet, Ray." Fraser remained standing in the middle of the room and it occurred to Ray that the Mountie was certainly too well bred to sit on someone's furniture in wet clothes.

"Yeah, well he's got his nose pressed against the terrarium like he's scopin' out lunch." Not giving Fraser time to reply, Ray went into his bedroom and shuffled through his closet, picking out his baggiest pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt that had always been too big on him. He hesitated by the dresser, unsure if he should offer underwear. Wearing another guy's shirt was no big deal, but wearing his shorts was. Some deeply buried charitable streak told Ray that it'd be cruel to make Fraser go commando, probably against the Mountie rules--Thou Shalt Always Be Properly Attired, Even In Thy Nether Regions. With a shrug of mild defeat, he pulled out socks and a pair of boxerbriefs and took them into the living room.

Shoving the bundle of clothes into Fraser's arms, he pointed toward his bedroom door and said, "Bathroom's through there."

"Oh, you didn't have to go to any trouble. I could have waited until I got home." Fraser looked down at the clothes and then back up at Ray and then smiled politely. "Thank you kindly, Ray."

"No problem." Ray tried to smile back, but the hunger was making him notice the pulse in his wrists, the empty growling of his stomach, and, most strongly, the smell of wet wool and wet Fraser. The combination was making his head spin lightly, and he couldn't relax until he heard the bathroom door click shut, giving him a brief moment of privacy.

Ignoring the wolf who'd abandoned staring at the turtle for following Ray around, he went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of blood. He twisted the top off and downed the cold contents in a few long gulps, shuddering at the temperature-affected taste. The effect was almost immediate. His limbs started to loosen and his stomach settled down, until he felt almost right--still wet and cold but whatever passed for normal in his world.

Carefully rinsing his bottle out, Ray dropped it into a trashcan under the sink and went into the bedroom. He listened to the faint rustling sounds of clothes being changed behind the bathroom door and fought back a wave of arousal. He couldn't be thinking about getting the Mountie naked right now, not while he was right in the next room getting... naked. Ray closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then cursed quietly under his breath because it hadn't helped at all. He was getting hard--in his *bed*room--just knowing that a few feet and one thin slab of wood was all that separated him from Fraser changing clothes.

Going over to his closet, Ray stripped off his coat and bloody shirt and threw them both inside on the floor. He inspected his chest and there was only a small red spot where the bullet had hit him. He hadn't felt it go out his back, so it must have still been inside him. He suppressed another shudder when he wondered if it would stay in there or if it would come out somehow, the particulars of which he refused to let his mind contemplate. He heard the doorknob make the peculiar little clinking noise that signaled it was being gripped in preparation for turning and grabbed a clean shirt off a hanger. He rammed his arms through the sleeves and pulled the front together just as Fraser stepped into the room. He pulled out a pair of pants and held them casually in front of his crotch.

The shirt he'd given Fraser was an unfortunate shade of green, but the pants fit closely enough to make Ray's mouth water. It was official--Fraser managed to look edible no matter what he was wearing, and maybe for the first time, Ray fully grasped the enormity of his assignment. He'd thought the dodging-people-who-knew-Vecchio part was going to be difficult, but he hadn't counted on the mind-blowing proximity of one Benton Fraser. And he'd be with him every single blessed day. Yippee, lucky me, thought Ray with fatalistic acceptance.

"Make yourself comfortable, Fraser. I'll hurry it up so we can get on back to the station." Ray hoped he sounded more concerned with professional matters than wanting to get this man out of his place as soon as possible. He quickly got his dry clothes on and went back into the living room to find Fraser sitting at attention on the couch, looking around with polite interest. The guy didn't even have the decency to look as tired as he must surely be at this hour of the evening after travelling all day to get here.

Fueled by his recent feeding, the low thrum of arousal, and the excitement of the evening, Ray himself was humming with energy. He rushed over to the closet in the foyer and pulled out a jacket, saying, "Come on, Fraser, pitter--"

Fraser interrupted him, saying quickly, "Are you sure you weren't injured, Ray? I could have sworn I smelled blood on your clothes."

"Heh. That's a good one. What are ya, a bloodhound?" Ray shook his head as if Fraser was making a joke. "Like anyone could smell anything over the stench of lake water."

"No, I...oh, never mind. You're sure you're all right?"

"Right as rain. Now let's get moving." Ray hustled Fraser and Dief out of his apartment and down to his own nondescript dark sedan, which was not nearly as flashy and memorable as the Riviera, the remains of which were most likely being pulled out of Lake Michigan right about now. Assuming someone had bothered to call a salvage yard. Again he felt a twinge of regret on behalf of the real Ray Vecchio, who by all accounts had really--almost pathologically-- loved that car. Ray had a nostalgic flash of longing for his old GTO, surely passed on to some other guy by now. No reason for dad to hang onto it, he thought wistfully as he drove over to Fraser's apartment.

  
As he had at his own apartment, Ray felt hesitant about going into the building and into Fraser's personal nest. He just knew that all this non-professional contact was going to throw gasoline on fantasies that were already burning out of control. He had a whole whack of problems to deal with without adding this growing obsession with his new partner, but his body didn't seem to be getting the message because here he was following Fraser up the stairs and trying not to notice how his pants fit Fraser's ass. Very nicely, a traitorous voice in his brain pointed out.

Telling the voice to shut up, Ray fixed his eyes on Diefenbaker and tried to think calming thoughts about furry little woodland creatures, who did not wear big hats that should have looked silly, but somehow didn't.

Fraser gathered up some fresh clothes and told Ray he'd only be a minute before leaving the apartment again for the bathroom down the hall. Ray looked around at the sparse furnishings and wondered how anyone could live without a television and a stereo. Those were necessities, weren't they? A brief draft of cold air broke off his thoughts and he looked around to find Bob Fraser's ghost watching him again.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. Just trying to figure you out."

Ray snorted. "There's nothing to figure out. Just leave me alone and we'll get along fine. Fraser doesn't need you to protect him."

"Certainly not, but he frequently benefits from my advice and experience."

"Yeah? Well, what does that have to do with me?"

"If I figure you out, I can advise him on appropriate courses of action to deal with you."

"Deal with-- Look, old man, I don't need..." Ray broke off with a sigh and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I am not gonna argue with a ghost. That is crazy, even for me."

"What's crazy, Ray?" Fraser asked interestedly. He stood just inside the door with Ray's neatly folded clothes in his hands. He was dressed like a lumberjack, a sexy lumberjack that Ray wanted to fuck senseless.

Ray started to point at Bob, but he'd disappeared again, so Ray shook his head and said, "Ah, never mind."

"As you wish. I'll return your clothes once I've had them cleaned." Fraser put the stack of clothing on the kitchen table, and Ray immediately picked them up.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'll just go ahead and take them now." He cradled them in one arm as they went back down to the car, where he laid them on the back seat. He told Diefenbaker to stay off them, because he didn't want to lose Fraser's scent yet. If Fraser saw anything odd about Ray's actions, he kept it to himself.

***

After they'd finished up at the station, Ray dropped Fraser off at his apartment and went back to work. He only had a couple hours left on his shift so he used the time to review some files, but his mind kept wandering in the Mountie's direction. He finally gave up and went home.

Afraid of having another drowning-in-blood dream, he put off going to bed until he couldn't hold his eyes open another minute. He was dead to the world the second his head hit the pillow.

This time the dream started slowly with Ray walking down a darkened city street. There were no lights anywhere and he could hardly see three feet in front of his face, but he could hear--*things* skittering behind him on clawed feet, odd dripping sounds that filled him with dread, the flapping of wings that didn't sound at all bird-like... He could feel eyes watching him from all sides and they didn't feel friendly...or human. He couldn't remember where he was going, but he knew he had to get there so he ignored his discomfort and picked up his pace. Walking became a jog, which quickened until he was running full out. He ran as fast as he could until his lungs burned and his legs felt rubbery, but he didn't seem to be getting any closer to his mysterious destination.

A flash of red appeared at the corner of his vision and he turned toward it, but stopped moving when he realized it was no longer there. He spun around in a circle and yelled, "Fraser...Fraser...Where are you?" His voice echoing back to him twisted in on itself until it sounded like cruel laughter chattering at him out of the darkness. Another flash of red at the corner of the eye, but when he spun again it was gone. Feeling crushed by the feeling of utter isolation, Ray started walking again, hoping to run into people, somebody, anybody, just so that he wasn't alone anymore.

A voice whispered at him out of the dark, but he couldn't make out the words. It sounded...wrong...dangerous, but he couldn't tell if he should be afraid for himself or Fraser. The worry and anxiety twisted his insides until it didn't matter *what* he was afraid of or *who* he was afraid for, just that he was scared, too scared to scream, too scared to run. He could only stand there and listen to the mumbling whisper grow louder but no more intelligible. The voice scratched at his ears and he still didn't know what it was saying, and that pissed him off even as it terrified him, and finally a scream broke loose from his aching throat and the words echoed back at him: "Fraser...mine..."

But he couldn't tell who spoke them, if it was him or the voice of the other. And before he could figure it out, he woke up, slicked with sweat, blood dripping down his throat from a dozen cuts on his tongue and lips. He swallowed the thick liquid and gasped for breath, wishing with all his heart he could go back to those sex dreams. They'd only been frustrating.

He rolled over and looked at the clock. It was a few minutes after noon. He could go back to sleep--an unfavorable prospect to be sure, or he could call the Consulate and see if Fraser was in yet. That is, he assumed Fraser's schedule had been adjusted to allow for his later nights, working with Ray. If not, he'd feel really guilty for keeping him up so late. He wouldn't stop *doing* it, but he would feel bad about it.

Picking up the phone, Ray dialed the number from memory. He had to go through the cheerfully confusing labyrinth that is a conversation with Turnbull before he finally got to hear Fraser's voice. Ray found himself smiling in the quiet dimness of his room as Fraser's crisp, professional greeting turned warmer when Ray identified himself.

"How are you today?"

"That's what I was calling to ask you. It's not everyday you ride a flaming car into Lake Michigan."

"That's true. It's not everyday one gets shot in the chest either. You avoided my question."

"Oh, I'm just dandy, Fraser. You avoided mine too."

"I'm quite well, Ray. Perhaps a bit confused...ah, well, that's not important. Was there anything else I could do for you?"

"No. I'll let you get back to work."

"I'll see you at the station later."

"Want me to swing by and pick you up?"

"That would be very thoughtful, Ray. Thank you."

"It's nothing. Can't have you wandering all over town after dark dressed like a big red target for all the scumbags out there. See you later." Ray hung up the phone and rolled onto his back. While he was contemplating what he could do to fill the hours until it was time to pick up Fraser, he relaxed into a dreamless sleep.

***

"Look, Fraser, I don't know how you do things up there in the Great North Wilderness, but here in Chicago, when a guy points a gun at you, you duck. Okay? You do not say, 'please hand over that illegal weapon, young man, before I dazzle you with stories of Eskimos and references to the queen'." Ray jerked open the car door and shot a glare at the source of his frustration. "Next time you're gonna get capped, and I don't wanna have to do the paper work."

"They're Inuit, Ray, not Eskimos. That's actually sort of a derogatory term. It means 'eaters of raw flesh' and I believe that it originated with--"

Ray held up one hand to interrupt Fraser, who stopped talking and looked at him calmly over the roof of the car. Considering what all he'd learned from working with Fraser, Ray said, "Are you gonna go all Discovery Channel and give me a piece of history here? Because I'm sure it's all fascinating as hell, but the point is, you're going to get yourself killed. Don't you get that?"

"Ray, I do know what I'm doing, you know. That man didn't want to kill me. He was just frightened and angry." Fraser spoke in that aggressively reasonable tone of voice that he was prone to using after he'd scared a couple of years off Ray's life, and it astounded Ray how often he'd heard it in just one short week. At the rate they were going, Ray would need every bit of the survival advantage of having an unnaturally long life. "You secured his weapon and he's on his way to jail. I don't see why you're upset."

"I'm not upset," said Ray, quickly. "And what kind of law enforcement officer doesn't carry a gun?"

"Well, I think you are," Fraser replied. "And I told you that I don't have a license."

"No, I'm not. Who do you think you are, Sheriff Andy Taylor? If so, I will not be your Barney Fife."

"What are you talking about, Ray?"

"Nothing. Just get in the car." Ray got behind the wheel and waited until the wolf was inside before starting the engine. As soon as Fraser shut the door, Ray pulled out into the street.

"You know, you've been on-duty for nearly six hours without a break. Maybe it would improve your mood if you stopped for dinner."

"I'm not hungry, and there's nothing wrong with my mood. I'm completely cool."

"You're never hungry."

"Sure, I am."

"You never eat anything."

"Yes, I do."

"When? I've never seen you."

Ray tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to sound casual, and not as scared and irritated as he felt. "I eat before I go to work, and after I take you home. Fraser, what is your problem? You think I'm one of those ana-ano- real skinny teenage girls or something? Do I look like a supermodel to you?"

"Well, no, but you do have the cheekbones for it. All I'm saying is that I'm concerned about you. Eating disorders are not limited to teenage girls."

Ray ignored the cheekbones comment, because the warmth it sent curling through his belly was too distracting from the conversation. But he knew he'd be thinking about it later, after Fraser was gone. "Look, I'm a grown man, I am not disordered, and I can take care of myself."

"Well, isn't that what I said about myself a moment ago?" Fraser's voice went up a skeptical notch and Ray had to hold onto his resolve to stick to the subject.

"Whether I have a sandwich or not is *not* the same as a guy pointing a gun at your head. That's a whole other not-getting-killed thing, and that's what you should be concentrating on."

"Speaking of concentrating, Ray...You just missed our turn."

Ray made a noise like the sound Diefenbaker made when someone tried to deny him a doughnut, and hooked a U-turn in the middle of the street. He ignored Fraser's indignant squawk and made another turn onto the street he'd missed. He stayed quiet until he pulled up in front of Fraser's building.

"Ray, I'm sorry if I upset you--"

"I'm not upset," Ray quickly assured him again with an indignant tone of his own.

"--or made you angry," Fraser continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "With all new partnerships, there's an adjustment period where both parties have to get to know each other and each other's idiosyncrasies."

"Did you just call me an idiot?"

"No, no, idiosyncrasies." He enunciated the last three syllables very clearly. "It means personality quirks."

"Oh, I knew that. Well, I got them, all right." Ray nodded and decided to give Fraser something back. "Maybe you had a point, and I'll feel better after I have some dinner."

It wasn't exactly an apology, but Ray could tell Fraser accepted it anyway, because as he said a polite goodnight, he smiled an I-knew-you'd-agree-with-me-eventually smile that on a lesser man would be smug and insufferable. On Fraser, it was a knee-melter, and Ray responded accordingly by getting all flustered as he muttered a quick goodnight. Calling into the station to say he was taking his dinner break, but would be available by cell phone, Ray drove over to the butcher shop.

As he got out of his car, he caught a flash of red in the corner of his vision, but when he turned there was no one around. The street was quiet except for a cab turning onto a cross street. He surveyed the area once more without anything grabbing his attention, so he wrote it off as general paranoia caused by the weird dreams he'd been having and went on his way.

Walking down the alley just as cautiously as he had the very first time, he wondered if he would always be jumpy about this place and these vampire things he had to do sometimes. Or would he someday settle into this new power he seemed to have? Most of the time he tried not think about it--never *forgetting* that he could jump twelve feet straight up in the air or break a man's neck with a flick of the wrist if he wanted to, but never actually *doing* it either. Good thing, because it would be hard to explain to Fraser. Ray was supposed to be the normal one and leave the superheroics to Fraser.

The panel in the door slid open as soon as Ray knocked, and the now-familiar deep voice barked, "State your business."

"Hey there, Roland, the bar open tonight?" Ray asked.

"Sure. Come on in, brother," said Roland, as he always did, which made Ray wonder if he had trouble remembering all names or just his.

Stepping inside the dark hallway, Ray handed over his weapons without waiting to be frisked and went down the stairs without an escort. He wasn't exactly a regular, but by now he was a known quantity.

The bar wasn't very busy tonight, the few patrons either clustered in the booths along the walls or sitting at the bar, leaving the tables empty. Ray took a stool at the end of the bar where he had a good view of the door and nodded a greeting at the bartender, who walked over and asked if he wanted a beer with a flirtatious smile.

"No, I'm on duty tonight, Scottie. Just came in for a little break, maybe have a snack." Ray looked over at the big old-fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox and thought about dropping in a few quarters, but decided to wait until the current set finished playing. Right now it was in the middle of a Spanish-sounding song he didn't recognize with lots of classical guitar, but it was nice. It reminded him of some of the music he and Stella used to dance to.

"Got some fresh A positive, just came in today. Want a taste?" Scottie licked her lips and gave the simple question lascivious overtones, even though Ray knew she didn't mean it, being devotedly married to Roland.

"It *was* donated voluntarily, wasn't it?" Ray always had to double check.

"Of course, you know I run a clean place." She leaned forward and said, "Did you know that if I wanted to, I could have this room full of donors? Voluntary-get-off-on-having-their-blood-sucked donors. They're out there, Ray. Some of you guys pay them, but most of the time you could get it for free." She moved down the bar a bit and came back with a shot glass. "Here. Give this a try."

Ray lifted the glass and took a slow sip. It was perfect body temperature and had the special indefinable thing that screamed "human" to his excited taste buds. He finished it off and nodded. "Oh yeah, that's...that's good. I'll take a tall one."

"I thought so." Scottie slid a full pilsner glass in front of him and then wiped at the bar with a damp rag, and gave Ray that "Pour your heart out. I'm listening" look that he usually found so irritating in bartenders of either gender. "What's up with you?"

Ray almost laughed because that was the problem, wasn't it? Things being up at the most inconvenient times. But he couldn't tell her that so he shrugged and said, "Work. My new partner's got some kinda psycho death wish and it's driving me nuts."

She stopped any pretense of cleaning the bar, propped her chin in her hand, and looked at him with interest. "Really, is that so?"

"Nah, not really. He just...he's just got the crazy idea that people are good and kind deep down and all he's got to do is *talk* to 'em instead of giving 'em the kick to the head that they deserve." Ray shook his head. "The really crazy thing is that most of the time it works. He gets people to do stuff they wouldn't normally do."

"Is that what's bothering you? Afraid he'll get you to do something you don't want to do?"

"No, I don't...I don't think so. Maybe it's just the opposite."

"He doesn't know about the--" She held her forefingers up to her mouth in pretend fangs. "Does he?"

"Are you nuts? He's pure and good and...and...Canadian, for Pete's sake! No way am I gonna tell him." He cracked his neck and shrugged some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I got enough to deal with, what with his dad's ghost popping in all the time when I least expect it. Asking nosy questions, criticizing my police work."

"Who's your partner-- Hamlet?" Scottie asked with the easy amusement of someone who long ago ceased to be shocked by anything.

"Nah, I told you he's Canadian." Ray took another long sip from his glass and sighed. The blood really was good, much better than the stuff he usually drank. His thoughts started drifting into territory he usually tried to avoid--the attraction to human blood, straight from a warm live body. The idea of donors was new to him although, with as many different kinds of fetishes and kinks as there were in the world, he couldn't be too surprised. If you looked hard enough, you'd find someone somewhere who got off on anything you could think of, no matter how seemingly strange it was.

Ray wondered how easy it would be to find a donor--not that he'd ever do something like that. He was just curious, that's all. Was it always a sexual thing, with actual sex involved? Or did the vamp just take a little nip and then go on about his business? It was an intriguing thought and maybe he'd try it someday. But not tonight, he thought, glancing at his watch. It was time for him to get back to work.

Sliding the bartender some bills, Ray stood up and said, "Thanks, Scottie. Be seeing you."

"Take care, Ray. And hey, give your partner a chance. Any guy that hangs out with his dead father's probably not all that excitable."

Ray nodded and smiled, but inside he was cursing pushy women who gave their unasked-for opinions and tried to match make even if they didn't know that's what they were doing. He frowned briefly as he realized that shouldn't make sense, but it did and that was just another example of how confused he was over this whole thing with Fraser.

Ray had known all along he couldn't get involved, and he'd *thought* he was resigned to that, but now he was caring whether the guy was putting himself in needless danger. And any gun to the head was needless, in Ray's opinion. It's not like Fraser would bounce back like Ray could. The man was only human.

Even though his thoughts were whirling around and around the Fraser situation, Ray noticed the second he got that prickly 'somebody's watching' feeling on the back of his neck. He wondered if he was being followed, but a casual glance back down the alley revealed nothing and no one. He concentrated on making his steps as silent as possible and he thought he heard a very quiet shuffling rustle. The sound--whether real or nightmare-remembered--sent a chill down his spine.

Steeling himself for any possibility, Ray drew his gun and spun around all in one lightning fast move. He scanned the alley carefully, paying close attention to the darkest shadows and the potential hiding places by the trashcans and dumpsters. He saw nothing, not even the obligatory stray cat that would've jumped out if this had been a horror movie.

He stood there for another long moment watching the alley and then turned toward the street and gave it the same thorough once over. But still nothing seemed out of place, so he got into his car and went back to work.

***

Ray had been awake for about an hour and was taking a stroll through the wasteland that was afternoon television. He stopped clicking on "Sailor Moon", just as he heard a knock at the door. He walked quietly to the door and looked out the peephole, fully prepared to ignore it if the visitor was a salesman or some other person on the unwelcome guest list.

It was Fraser. Ray chose not to be surprised or irritated over this unexpected visit, although he could have been either or both. Fraser had a way of short-circuiting those kinds of reactions--on the small scale--just by being. It was disconcerting, but Ray discovered that he was getting used to it.

Opening up the door, Ray stood back so that Fraser and Diefenbaker could enter. Leaning down to give Dief a rub behind the ears, he said, "Fraser...what brings you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't you be at the consulate by now protecting that little patch of Canadian soil from invasion or something?"

"I took a break and decided to walk over and see how you were doing."

Sarcasm was just so useful at times like these, thought Ray. "Oh my *goodness*, you take breaks? It's not against the Invincible Mountie Code?"

"No, regularly scheduled breaks are known to reduce stress and provide a more efficient work environment."

"But *you* take them?" Ray asked skeptically as he motioned Fraser into the living room.

Fraser wore an expression that bordered on sheepish, as he ducked his head and said, "Um, well, not usually, no. I also wondered if you'd like to go out to lunch with me."

Ray froze and lost all interest in friendly teasing. He stared suspiciously at Fraser, who looked back at him with mildly interested curiosity. But there was something in his eyes...talk about disconcerting, Ray thought, but all he said was, "I already had lunch."

"Well, you could come anyway and keep me company. Diefenbaker is not the world's best conversationalist, and most restaurants won't let him inside anyway."

"Not the ones you'd want to actually eat in. No offense there, fur face." Ray gave the wolf another scratch behind the ears before he wandered off again.

"So you'll come with me?" Fraser asked in that of-course-you-will tone that he got when he thought he was being more reasonable than whoever he was talking to.

"No, I can't. I got things to do-- uh, I don't want to miss my show." Ray waved at the TV in what became a half-hearted motion when he remembered where he'd left the channel.

"You don't want to miss...a show about big-eyed young girls in very short dresses? Really, Ray."

"Hey, I'm not a pervert. That is quality Japanese animation, my friend, featuring the struggle between right and wrong, cosmic battles between good and evil, and uh... there's a talking cat."

"And girls in very short dresses."

"I thought you Mounties didn't notice that kind of thing."

"Well, being a Mountie doesn't mean I'm blind."

Ray couldn't believe he was having this conversation with the only guy who could have given Dudley Do-Right a run for his money in the obliviously good category, but it was much better than the conversation they could be having.

"Who do you think is hotter, Sailor Mars or Sailor Mercury?"

"Really, Ray. I barely glanced at the set," said Fraser, reminding Ray of his third grade teacher, who had given him that same look every time he squirmed in his seat--which had been so often that he got real familiar with the look.

"That's what I thought." Ray nodded and went over to the terrarium and pulled Diefenbaker's muzzle away from the glass, looked at him straight in the eye and said, "Leave the turtle alone."

Dief flopped onto the floor with a whine that sounded apologetic, making Ray wish his human companion were half so easy to deal with. "Can't you do something with him?"

"He seems to listen to you as much as he listens to me." Fraser stepped closer to Ray, head tilted slightly, eyes intense, as he said, "And I'm very curious about that. Have you always had this way with animals? And is it the same with *all* animals or just dogs and wolves?"

"What? You think I been hanging out with *other* wolves? Yeah, right." Ray snorted in disbelief. "I don't know why he likes me. I didn't do anything but slip him a treat or two at the station. He loved those Twinkies that Vecchio left behind, but if that's all it takes to gain his undying affection, that is one cheap wolf."

"Hmm. That may be." Fraser glanced at Dief and then back at Ray, but the intensity didn't fade from his eyes until he blinked and said evenly, "So if you aren't available for lunch, how about an early supper before your shift starts?"

Ray laughed to cover his uneasiness and said, "What are you doing, Fraser? Asking me out on a date or something?"

Frowning briefly, Fraser appeared to consider the question before he said, "No. I just thought--"

"Yeah." Ray told himself he was not disappointed, because he'd never expected it anyway...right? Right, so... "Well, I've got plans tonight anyway."

"What about this weekend? Will you be free then?"

"Maybe. We'll see then, okay?" Ray walked around Fraser, making his way toward the front door in what he hoped was a casual manner, when that was the last thing he felt. "Between the walk over and the time we've been gabbing, I guess your lunch hour's about over, huh?"

Fraser glanced at his watch and nodded. "Yes, I should be returning to the consulate."

"Pick up something on the way."

"Yes, I'll do that. Ray..." Fraser stopped in the small entrance hall and looked Ray square in the eyes. "I know that we haven't known each other for very long but, nevertheless, I hope you know that if you're having a problem, you can come to me. Even if you just need someone to talk to."

With some sadness, Ray realized that it never would have occurred to him to make such an offer, not to Fraser or anyone else. He had to wonder how Fraser could do it and make it sound so easy. "Trust me, Fraser, you do *not* wanna take on the job of being my therapist or--or father confessor or whatever."

"I just want to be your friend, Ray," Fraser said, with quiet sincerity.

"Hey, we're cool. We're buddies, right?" Ray tried out a cheerful smile, but it faltered quickly. He gave up and ran a hand over his mouth and said, "I'll come by and pick you up before I go to work, okay?

Fraser nodded. "Thank you, Ray. Diefenbaker, let's go."

Diefenbaker gave Fraser a long look and then walked back toward Ray, circling him once before sitting down beside him. Fraser sighed, but spoke patiently. "Dief, come on. It's time for us to go."

Ray would have sworn it looked like the wolf shrugged his shoulders before lying down across Ray's bare feet. He tried to step back out from under the pile of fur, but Dief just moved with him. Finally Ray looked up at Fraser with a shrug of his own and said, "He can stay if he wants."

"Are you sure? He may have to go out."

Ray hadn't considered that, but he was sure he could work around it. In fact, this could be an opportunity to allay whatever suspicions Fraser seemed to be having. "We'll manage."

"If you're certain."

"No problem. Better get going before the Ice Queen sends a hit squad after you."

"For being late? I hardly think that Inspector Thatcher would--Well, maybe she would."

"Fraser, was that a joke? A joke about your superior officer?" Ray clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment.

"You must be a bad influence," Fraser said very seriously. Then he smiled, put his hat on, and walked out the door.

Ray stared after him for a moment then looked down at Dief. "Well, wolf, it's just you and me. Let's go see if Sailor Moon's still on. You like cartoon girls in short dresses? No? Maybe we can find you some Road Runner. That more your speed?"

***

After watching cartoons to the point where even Diefenbaker was bored--which didn't take all that long, Ray remembered that he was almost out of clean shirts. He checked his pocket change for quarters and took an overflowing laundry basket down to the basement.

When he ran into his landlady on the stairs, Ray had to spend a couple minutes assuring her that the dog was just visiting. The woman still seemed suspicious, but eventually gave in and went back to whatever it was she did all day. Ray could count on one hand how many conversations he'd had with her, and he thought that this one might qualify as the longest. What did that say about him? And why was he even thinking about it now? Maybe it was Fraser's influence. It was probably only a matter of time until he was compulsively holding doors for people and rescuing kittens from trees.

Dief investigated every inch of the laundry room while Ray loaded up the washers then sat down on a rickety straight chair someone had left behind about forty years before, from the looks of it. The wolf came over, laid his head on Ray's knee, and looked up at him adoringly. Ray shook his head and gave Dief a good neck scratch. "What do you know about me, huh? What do you see that makes you like me so much?"

Dief made noise in his throat that Ray couldn't interpret, so he kept talking.

"And just what does your human think, hmm? That's what I oughta be worrying about. Fraser's sharp and he doesn't give up. I knew that just from reading his file. What kinda freak jumps onto moving cars and leaps out windows all the time? And that tasting thing..."

Ray shuddered and then grinned down at Dief as another thought struck him. "If he wants to put something in his mouth so bad, I could think of something much better than dirt off the street. I'd much rather have him licking on me than a rock or something."

Dief closed his eyes and whimpered, making Ray chuckle and ask, "Too much info for ya, fur face? Well, too bad, 'cause it's true. When I'm not having the nightmares, I have these wet dreams that would make your hair stand on end--well, maybe not *yours*, but it does mine. But you really don't want to hear that part, do you?"

Diefenbaker walked over to the doorway and gave a very un-wolf-like yip and then turned as if waiting for Ray to catch up.

"What do you want? You wanna go out?" Ray stood up and sighed, "How we gonna do this? I can't go outside with you. I'm not even sure I can open the door so you can go out by yourself."

He followed Dief up to the ground floor and instinctively shrank back when he saw the rectangles of sunshine coming through the sidelights and stretching across the floor, as if reaching directly for him. Watching Dief run eagerly toward the door, Ray quickly considered which of the few people in the building he'd ever spoken to that would do him a favor. He remembered there was a kid--he glanced at his watch--that should be home from school by now. Ray didn't know which apartment he lived in, but he thought it was on this floor.

Walking slowly down the hall, Ray stopped at each door and listened carefully until he heard music--Metallica, he thought. He knocked at the door and waited until it opened up a crack and a creaky adolescent voice said, "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Ray Vecchio. I live upstairs. I was wondering if you'd do me a favor and take my dog out for a walk."

"I don't do favors."

"It'll only take a couple of minutes... I'll give you a buck."

"Ten."

"Two." Ray stared into the one brown eye peeking out at him and tried to do that compelling thing that Trevor had done on him.

"Seven."

Since compulsion didn't seem to work, Ray fell back what he knew best. He looked over the top of the boy's head, sniffed and said, "Five, and I won't tell your Mom you've been smoking her cigarettes. Mmm...menthol, nice."

"Oh, all right," the boy grumbled and opened the door wider. He stepped out into the hallway with a suspicious look and said, "Up front."

Ray pulled two singles out of his wallet. "Bring him down to the laundry room when he's done and I'll give you the rest."

The boy took them without getting too close. "You're not some kinda perv, are you?"

Ray patted his pants pockets until he found his case, flipped it open to show his badge and said, "No, I'm a cop doing his laundry. And even if I *was* a perv, I probably wouldn't just tell you. His name's Diefenbaker--don't ask-- and he's deaf so look him in the face when you talk to him."

Ray looked down into Dief's eyes and said, "Go do your thing. He'll--What's your name again?"

"Roger."

"Roger'll open the doors for you, so don't run off or nothing, okay?"

"You don't expect him to answer, do you?" Roger watched Ray like he was the kind of nutcase that was more funny than scary.

"No, of course not. He's a dog, for crying out loud. Go on, before he takes a whiz on the floor." Ray could have sworn there was a knowing look in Dief's eyes as he turned to follow the kid to the front door.

Ray went back downstairs, moved his clothes over to the dryer, and sat down to watch them spin. He let his thoughts spin too, until he was lulled into a calmer state of mind regarding Fraser. The man was his partner now, and Ray had to treat him as such-- and hope like hell that Fraser got over his suspicions before he figured out what really made Ray tick.

Ray was packing up his clothes to take back upstairs when Dief came strolling in with a big wolfy grin on his face. Roger came in right behind him and immediately held out his hand. Ray gave him three more bills and the kid muttered something that might have been "thanks" as he stuffed them in his jeans pocket. "You ever need me to take him for a walk and, you know, I don't have nothing better to do..."

"Well, he's not my dog, but if he's ever visiting again, I'll keep it in mind." Ray watched as the kid nodded and walked away, then gathered up his stuff and went back to his apartment, with Diefenbaker staying right by his side.

***

For the next week, Ray and Fraser fell into a routine of working and talking casually, gradually getting to know each other better. Fraser didn't bring up the subject of dinner again, but he did come over to Ray's apartment on Saturday afternoon because Diefenbaker wanted to see him. That was what he said and Ray had no reason to call him a liar, no matter what he wanted to think of Fraser's motives.

Ray wanted to think there was something a little extra friendly in the smiles that Fraser had started to give him with increasing frequency. He wanted to think there was something special in the way that Fraser found ways to touch him, even though he was rather reserved with the rest of the people they came into contact with on a nightly basis. He wanted to think Fraser looked at him a little longer and more intensely than strictly necessary. He wanted to think all those things, but he knew it was a bad idea. And in the history of bad ideas, the worst was his stubborn attempts to get closer to Fraser when common sense told him to stay cool and removed and just do his job.

Tonight they were on stakeout, relieving a couple of day-shift detectives outside the office building of a suspected murderer. Ray personally thought the guy was more likely to be lying on a beach in Brazil than skulking around his former place of employment. But it wasn't his case and maybe the other cops had information they weren't sharing. He didn't care, because he had Fraser there to break the monotony of sitting in a car for hours until his butt fell asleep. Dief had the right idea of staying home in Fraser's nice comfy bed.

Fraser was telling Ray a story that had not been in his files. It was about a plane crash in a remote forest, the hunt for a desperate escaped killer, and the way Ray Vecchio had taken care of an injured Fraser. Ray listened to the story with a sinking heart. The real Vecchio sounded heroic enough for Fraser, a really dedicated friend. And what was Ray Kowalski? Just a freak who'd never be good enough pretending to be the guy who was. That was very nearly more fucked up than the whole bloodsucker thing.

"After all that, it was quite a while before I felt like going on another vacation," said Fraser in conclusion.

"Yeah, I can understand that." Ray nodded and stared out the windshield at the empty street. "So you and Vecchio were really close, huh?"

"Yes, best friends. That was part of your briefing, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't tell the whole story, does it? He took a bullet for you, and you'd have done the same for him, right?"

"You took a bullet for me too," Fraser reminded him. "And it was after a much shorter acquaintance."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the same, was it? I didn't really take a bullet. The vest did. No bloodshed."

"Hmm. I'm not so sure about that, Ray." Fraser gave him a curiously gentle smile.

"Ah ha. You've finally caught on, have you, son?" Robert Fraser spoke from his customary place in the back seat. Ray was sure he hadn't been there a moment before, but then the old man was prone to making sudden entrances. Scaring Ray by popping up out of nowhere was probably the biggest fun the ghost ever had.

Fraser kept his eyes on Ray as he asked, "Caught on to what, Dad?"

"What makes him so odd. You've figured out his secret--that he's been dead, but he's not quite anymore. He's undead."

At that, Ray had to speak up. "Anyone who's still breathing is 'undead', as in 'not dead'. I thought that would be obvious to a coupla smart Mounties like yourselves." He continued to stare out the window as if bored by the whole conversation, but inside he was nowhere near as calm. His stomach was clenched into a hard knot and his chest felt tight, like he couldn't take a deep breath if he wanted to.

"I think he means 'undead' in the traditional vampiric usage, Ray," said Fraser, in an oh-so-helpful-explanatory voice. "It is often believed to have begun with Vlad Tepes, also known as Vlad the Impaler, in fifteenth century Romania, but vampire legend is in fact much older than that. Stories of vampires have been recorded all throughout history. It would not seem unreasonable that the myths were based in some bit of fact."

"You are both stark raving looney tunes. And I don't have to listen to these fairy tales anymore." Ray opened the door, hoping the other two men couldn't see how his hand trembled on the handle. "I'm gonna take a walk around the building because, you know, I do have a job to do here."

As he walked away, Ray focused his hearing back on the car and heard Fraser say, "Are you happy? You spoke too soon, and now he's never going to trust me."

"Son, you don't want to get mixed up with his kind."

"Yes, I do. His *kind*? What sort of talk is that? His kind?"

Fraser's indignant voice faded away from Ray's awareness as other sounds took its place. Sounds of scuffling, grunting, and cursing came from a narrow breezeway between two buildings just ahead of him. Ray knew the sounds of a fight when he heard one, so he pulled his gun from its holster and held it at the ready as he approached. He turned the corner and announced, "Chicago P.D. Hold it right there. Hands where I can see 'em."

The words were standard and it was a good thing because when he heard the growl coming from the guy on the right and saw the fangs glinting in the orange tinted streetlights, Ray's cop brain switched off and his other nature took over. His own teeth lengthened and sharpened so fast his mouth ached as he lowered his gun and walked closer. He looked at the man crumpled on the ground but couldn't see any blood. He sniffed deeply and...ah, there it was. Just a trace calling to him with its sweetness.

The man on the ground was moving and groaning, so Ray knew he wasn't dead, but he didn't know if he was human or not, which was information critical for making decisions about medical care. The vampire was still standing over the man, watching Ray closely.

Ray showed his fangs in identification and said, "What's going on here? Is he human?"

The vampire sneered down at the man on the ground and said, "Not even close. Why don't you stay out of this? I'm going to kill him one way or another, and it's not like you're going to *arrest* me for it. I've seen you in Scottie's bar. You're just like me."

"No, I'm not. Why'd you want to kill this guy?" Ray heard Fraser come up behind him, but didn't turn to look as he realized that the cat which had started to sneak out of the proverbial bag a few moments ago was now flying out claws first.

"Because he tried to cheat me, didn't you, George?" He nonchalantly kicked the man on the ground in the ribs. "He said he would sell me his sister, and then tried to pass off a street hooker. I've got to keep my standards, don't I?"

"You tried to buy his *sister*?" Ray looked incredulously at the vampire and then at George. "You were gonna sell your sister?"

"Sure, he was. He'd get the money to pay off his bookie and I'd get a steady fresh supply." The vampire licked his lips and grinned. "Yum yum."

"You sick fuck," Ray shook his head in disgust "Why don't you just find somebody who likes having their blood sucked?"

"I like the extra tang that fear adds. It's all so much better when they squirm and beg." The vampire shifted on his feet, subtly moving closer to Ray as he asked, "Don't you agree?"

"No." Ray put his gun in his holster since it wouldn't do any good anyway, and took out his handcuffs. "You can't go around buying people like--" The words got cut off when the vampire suddenly darted past Ray, knocking him back into Fraser, who steadied him before turning and running after the vampire. For a moment, Ray hesitated over running after them or checking on the injured man. He settled for asking, "Hey, you sister-selling-son-of-a-bitch, you gonna be all right?"

"Yeah," George groaned and pulled himself up to a sitting position. "That fucker was really gonna kill me."

Ray didn't bother to answer, just turned and ran in the direction the vampire had taken. As he got closer to Fraser, Ray closed his lips over his teeth and tried to remember not to run *too* fast. He and Fraser were right in step as they followed the vampire around a corner, but when the vamp leaped up onto a fire escape, Ray put on a burst of speed and got there ahead of Fraser.

Shoving the cuffs he still carried into his jacket pocket, Ray grabbed the bottom rung of the dangling ladder and scrambled up two floors before looking back to see Fraser climbing up several feet behind him. He glanced up in time to see the vampire disappear over the edge of the roof, so he used more of his preternatural speed to climb up the next three levels. He didn't bother to check on Fraser's position, instead taking off over the roof.

As he rounded the side of an air conditioning unit, a fist came flying out of the darkness and slammed into his cheek. He rolled his head with the punch and brought his hands up to hit back, but the guy was already dancing away and saying, "This is stupid. You and me, we should be on the same side."

"No, no, I'm nothing like you. I won't be." Ray steadily followed the vampire across the roof and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do when he caught him.

Stopping by a pile of discarded construction debris, the vampire snatched up a piece of wood and lunged at Ray, who ducked and stumbled back, falling onto his back in the pea gravel. A sharp point raked across his cheek and down his throat, jaggedly ripping the skin open as Ray rolled over. He ignored the excruciating pain and gush of blood and brought his foot up to catch the vampire in the stomach, holding him back as he grabbed the board and twisted.

Pained shock crossed the face of the vampire as he looked down at the impromptu stake sticking out of his chest. Ray couldn't say he was any less surprised as the man crumbled to ashy dust all over him. He blinked the dust out of his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Ray...Ray...Ray! Are you all right?"

Fraser's voice penetrated the sticky haze that seemed to have enveloped Ray and he shook his head slowly. "I...I don't know. Did you...did you see that?"

"Yes, Ray. I saw and heard the whole thing." Fraser spoke in the overly calm voice one uses with scared children or people in shock--both of which Ray felt like at the moment.

Ray looked up at a suddenly wavery Fraser and said faintly, "You know. You s-- 'spected before, but now... you *know*."

"Yes, Ray, I know." Fraser knelt beside Ray and pressed something dry and soft to his aching throat. "You seemed to have lost a lot of blood even though the wounds on your face and neck have already started to heal."

The world spun around his head as Ray tried to get his tongue to work again. "That 'splains...wet...sticky..." Then the darkness closed in on Ray and he fell into it willingly.

***

Ray resurfaced to the feel of a warm rough hand on his cheek...smacking him firmly and briskly. His mouth opened before his eyes, but all that he could come up with was, "Ow, quit it."

"Sorry, Ray. I just needed you to wake up. We've got to see if you can stand up and move on your own," said Fraser, sounding more like a nurse than a Mountie.

Ray tried to sit up, but even with Fraser's strong hand on his back, it was a chore. He slumped against Fraser's side in defeat and said, "I can't. I gotta...I need..."

After a charged moment, Fraser asked matter-of-factly, "You need blood to replace that which you've lost?"

Ray nodded weakly. "I'm sorry. Can you go--"

"No need to apologize for your nature, Ray. We are what we are, and fighting it just leads to pain. Great amounts of pain." Though Fraser may have been trying to sound philosophical, Ray could hear ragged threads of old hurt and heartbreak in his voice. He wondered fuzzily if Fraser was thinking about Victoria or Vecchio, but before he could turn it into a truly nagging question, he heard the distinctive sound of ripping Velcro.

Ray opened his eyes and looked up to see that Fraser had taken off his hat and was now opening up the jacket part of his uniform, revealing a white henley and a long stretch of pale throat. Ray could practically see the life pulsing within that throat, making the hunger claw its way to the front of his addled consciousness. Saliva flooded his mouth as his tongue pushed eagerly against the back of his fangs. He could hardly believe that Fraser would offer, would even *consider*... Of course, Ray wanted it, wanted Fraser, but Fraser was volunteering and *that* was not a possibility that had ever occurred to him before.

They seemed to be at a rather bizarre turning point, but he had no time to fully grasp how big it was because Fraser bent over him, pushing his throat against Ray's mouth. He'd dreamed of this, but here Fraser was just giving it up with a hint of excitement lurking in his aggressive practicality. "You have to do it, Ray. It's the only way to get you off this roof before sunrise."

Ray barely had time to wonder just how long he'd been out before nature took over. His mouth opened wide as he sank his teeth into Fraser's skin as gently as he could. The fangs slid in as smooth as a needle in an apple, and a tiny grunt in the back of Fraser's throat sent a bolt of heat to Ray's groin. As Ray got his first exquisite taste, Fraser's arms went around Ray's body more fully, holding him instead of simply holding him up.

As the blood poured over his tongue, hot, sweet, and indescribably vital, Ray started to get flashes of Fraser's life. A young boy with blue eyes that Ray would know anywhere played with a darker boy and a girl with short black hair and a mischievous smile. A tall young man proudly put on red serge for the first time. Snow, a disjointed bit of poetry, loneliness and more snow, a wolf, icy water, tears and candles, a burning pain in his back, falling, falling...

Ray's cock hardened, pounding and thrumming as arousal and growing bloodlust combined in a primal urge, but the sound of Fraser's gasping breath and frantically beating heart--coming from under him-- pulled Ray back from the brink. He was scared that he'd taken too much without even knowing it. He took one last lick up the side of Fraser's throat, cleaning him with a little cat bath. He could feel the holes closing under his tongue, and thought that was cool and very convenient. For a moment, he wondered if he could lick and heal any injury or just those little ones he made himself. Then he opened his eyes again and his own breath froze in his chest as he saw that he had ended up on top of Fraser at some point, his legs straddling one of Fraser's, his erection trying to dig a hole in Fraser's thigh. He was slightly reassured by the fact that Fraser was still holding onto him.

Lying back on the roof, Fraser's head was tilted to one side, his eyes were closed, and a purely blissful smile curved his lips. Ray was certain it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and that wigged him out so much he rolled out of Fraser's arms and sat up a couple of feet away. The unmistakable smell of spunk immediately drew his eyes to Fraser's crotch, where a damp spot was just barely visible on the front of his dark pants.

Opening his eyes and following Ray's stare, Fraser glanced down at himself and sighed as he looked back at Ray unapologetically. "That was...amazing. Truly one of the most pleasurable experiences of my entire life. Thank you, Ray." Polite verbosity aside, his voice sounded drugged and Ray wondered if he'd have the same opinion when he sobered up... or whatever coming down from being fed on was called.

"Shut up, Fraser."

"There's no call for rudeness, Ray."

"I know and I'm sorry, but don't you understand what I just did to you? That...that was..."

"I volunteered, and you took only what you needed and no more. I feel fine, more than fine, actually. Did you know that the human body--"

Confused by how well Fraser was taking all of this, Ray interrupted him with an impatient frown. "Don't spout facts at me, Fraser. Please. You can get all Encyclopedia Britannica on me as soon as we get indoors, okay?"

"As you wish, Ray." Fraser looked at his watch, straight up at the sky, and then toward the east. "We have twenty-six minutes to get you home."

Ray climbed to his feet, still feeling weak and shaky. He needed more blood, but he'd have to get it from a bottle. It pissed him off that nobody had warned him about this particular little free-bleeding side effect. They were all 'stay out of sun' and 'don't eat anything', but not one mention of 'hey, you can lose a pint of blood from a papercut'. He'd gotten more than a papercut and was definitely a couple quarts low.

Either Fraser was very strong or Ray hadn't actually taken that much blood from him, because he was remarkably steady on his feet as he helped Ray across the roof and down the fire escape. As soon as they touched the ground, Ray remembered why they'd been out here in the first place. "The stakeout. Aww jeez, I forgot all about it."

"I took the liberty of borrowing your cellular phone and calling Detectives Huey and Dewey to come and take over for us. Detective Huey called back half an hour later to say they had picked up the suspect and were taking him in for booking."

"No," Ray groaned. "That's just great. I'll never hear the end of it."

"I also went to check on the man who was attacked, but he was gone."

"That figures. Ungrateful son of a bitch." Ray grumbled and then realized that if the man had actually done what the dead guy said he did, then Ray would have been tempted to ram a sharp object through his chest too. So on reflection, it seemed a good thing that the little weasel had run away.

The walk back to the car seemed about a dozen times longer than it had during their earlier chase, and when they reached it, Ray leaned against the side of the car for a moment. Digging his keys out of his pants pocket, he handed them to Fraser and asked, "You *can* drive, can't you?"

Fraser smiled mysteriously. "Sometimes."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Here, let me get your door."

Ray let Fraser open the door and strap him into the passenger seat. Fraser drove slowly, obeying every traffic rule even when the streets were all but deserted. Finally, sitting at their fourth straight red light, Ray snapped. "Just go already."

"The light is still red."

"There's nobody coming from any direction, and I'm gonna be a crispy critter if I don't get home soon."

The light turned green and Fraser cautiously accelerated through the intersection. "It'll be all right, Ray. Trust me."

"Please don't say that, Fraser. In the movies, any time somebody says 'trust me' the whole thing goes to hell."

"Real life is seldom like the movies."

"Mmm hmm. Tell me about it when I'm not in danger of making like the human torch."

"We'll make it, Ray. Tr- uh, try not to worry."

"The crazy thing is, I do trust you Fraser. I dunno know why. I have no idea what you're thinking or what you're gonna do about what you saw tonight...what I did to you and...and that guy. But I know you'll do the right thing...because that's what you do. Right?"

"I certainly try to, but I have done...some things...of which I'm not proud. I have hurt people, and I've disappointed them. I hope it will be different with you."

"None of us are perfect, Fraser. Why don't you quit expecting yourself to be?"

"It's not about perfection. It's about duty and honor and friendship and love, and how those things sometimes conflict."

Ray ignored the tremor in his stomach, which could have been some unnamable emotional response or just the hunger from blood loss, and focused on the easiest part of the equation. "Duty and honor aren't just words to you, are they? You really believe all that stuff."

"Yes, I do, and sometimes a person's duty is not as clear cut as strictly following the letter of the law."

"What does that mean? You're not gonna arrest me for staking that guy back there?"

"No. It was clearly self-defense, but in any case, this would not be a matter for the courts. This...these people are playing by a different set of rules, and I'm not sure yet what they are." Fraser looked over at Ray for the first time since the conversation had turned serious, and appeared to flip the mental switch between Mountie and regular guy. "We're here, Ray. In plenty of time, I might point out," he said, rather smugly in Ray's opinion.

Ray grinned and said, "Still gotta get inside though."

Fraser got out of the car, ran around the back, and jerked Ray's door open. Ray had unsnapped his seatbelt so all Fraser had to do was brace him with a hand under his elbow as he got his feet under him. Ray walked into the building under his own steam, but he stumbled a few times going up the stairs. Each time he did, Fraser put a hand on his back or around his arm, just quick little unobtrusive 'I'm here if you need me' touches.

Once inside Ray's apartment, Fraser went directly to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth while Ray went into the kitchen and filled up his biggest coffee mug with blood and popped it into the microwave. Fraser came back as Ray removed the cup and took a long satisfying sip. The sound of a politely cleared throat made Ray nearly jump out of his skin.

"Jeez, don't sneak up on me like that," Ray said, licking off a splash of blood that had sloshed out of the cup onto his hand. He glanced up to see Fraser standing on the other side of the breakfast bar watching him closely--not repulsed, as Ray would have expected but more like mesmerized. When Fraser's lips parted so that Ray could see the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, Ray felt a bolt of lust that curled his toes. He took another sip of blood that should have been calming but wasn't since Fraser continued to watch him like he was a bug under a microscope. When his frazzled nerves stretched unbearably thin, Ray set the cup down and snapped, "What?"

Fraser walked around the end of the counter and silently started to wash away the dried blood on Ray's face. The cloth was warm, damp, and slightly rough on his suddenly sensitive skin, and Ray suppressed a shudder of longing for the sensation to go on and on, all over his body. Even though he knew it was another of those Bad Ideas that he seemed to excel at lately, he couldn't take his eyes off Fraser's face. Seeing his own fascination reflected back was as staggering as it was arousing.

Since he was standing only inches away, Fraser's breath shivered across Ray's cheek as he said in a near whisper, "Remarkable. Your skin is completely unmarred." He lifted his hand and traced the tips of his fingers lightly over Ray's jaw and down his neck. "How does it feel?"

"Fantastic," Ray said, letting out a long breath. "I mean, it...it doesn't hurt anymore."

"That's good." Without taking his eyes from Ray, Fraser reached over and turned the water on in the sink and rinsed out the cloth. When he brought it back, he ran the hot cloth over Ray's neck and seemed to pay special attention to the hollow between his collar bones. Licking his lips, he said, in a voice gone husky, "You'll have to remove your shirt, Ray, so I can clean the blood from your chest."

Although his body was urging him to strip naked right there, Ray swallowed hard and caught Fraser's hand in his, taking the cloth and tossing it in the sink. He forced himself to take a step back, and was surprised to see disappointment in Fraser's eyes before he looked down at the floor and scratched an eyebrow with his thumbnail. It was a habitual gesture that Ray'd seen him do a hundred times, but for the first time it made him look forlorn and needy. Before he could talk himself out of it, Ray put his hand on Fraser's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Thanks, Fraser. For everything you've done and for not freaking out and calling me a monster."

Fraser's head came up quickly and he said, "I would never--"

"Maybe not, but there's been plenty of times I thought it myself, so what should I expect, huh?" Ray shook his head and took his hand away. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your--your..." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and finally said, "you being...well, you."

Fraser smiled in return and Ray thought he saw the beginnings of a blush before Fraser turned to the sink, fished the cloth out and started to rinse it out again.

Ray picked up his cup, drank the contents, and then set it back down with a decisive little thump. He tried to sound brisk when he said, "I'm gonna go take a shower. You want me to get you some clean clothes?"

This time, Fraser was definitely blushing as he wrung out the cloth and draped it over the edge of the sink. "Ah, no thank you, Ray. My tunic covers... I should be getting home."

Ray really wanted to figure out which was the real Fraser. Was he the shy man who blushed and stammered because he'd come in his pants? Or was he the brazen man who practically insisted on having his blood sucked and then politely thanked Ray for the experience? Just how innocent was this guy? He was like half Clark Kent and half Superman--all the time. "You could stay if... if you wanted to."

"I do. I have a lot of questions to ask you. But Diefenbaker will need to go out soon."

"Why don't you take my car? You can bring it back this evening."

"Thank you kindly, Ray. But I think the walk would do me good. Maybe the cold air will clear my head." Fraser walked back around to the living room and picked up his hat. "Will you be all right?"

Ray shrugged. Would he? He had no idea. The night had been extremely eventful and he was still trying to figure out what all of it meant and how he felt about what he'd done. The killing of another vampire seemed to pale in comparison to what all had happened between him and Fraser. How would that change their relationship? How did he *want* it to change? Suddenly realizing that Fraser was still patiently waiting for an answer, Ray said, "I'll be fine. Go get some sleep. Give Dief an extra pat on the head for me."

"If you're sure you're okay." Fraser walked to the door. "Goodnight, Ray."

Ray grinned and gave him a little wave. "Good morning, Fraser."

"Ah yes, so it is." Fraser closed the door quietly behind him, and Ray poured and heated another cup of blood before going to take his shower.

  
"Clear his head? What does that mean?" Ray muttered to himself as he peeled his T-shirt off and tossed it in the wastebasket. His outer shirt had been a loss too, but he thought he could clean the jacket. At the rate he was going, pretty soon he'd have no clothes left. He dropped his pants and stepped into the shower, turning the cold water on first. "I bet 'clear my head' is Canadian for 'figure out how to avoid you for the rest of my life'. He's probably nursing a big ball of regret, wondering what the hell he was thinking to get involved with such a freak. Oh yeah, like he had any choice in the matter. Poor guy comes back from vacation to find some guy he's never seen before pretending to be his partner and he's gotta go along with it? It's crazy, and I don't blame him for running--*if* that's what he does."

Ray stopped talking to himself and turned on the hot water. Neither the cold nor the attempt at distraction had done anything for his leftover arousal. He'd been hard the whole time Fraser was in his apartment, and had tried desperately to ignore it, hoping it would go away. It hadn't, and now it was reaching the painful point where he had to do something or risk serious injury.

Bracing one hand on the shower wall, Ray rubbed the other over the bar of soap and took his cock in a slick grip, stroking slowly at first as he remembered the taste of Fraser's blood. Theoretically, all blood should taste the same and probably would to a normal person, but it didn't to Ray. There were subtle differences, and Fraser's was more to his personal taste than any he'd tried so far. Ray could drain him dry so easily, licking up every last delectable drop. His hand picked up speed, sending soap bubbles flying. He pictured the look on Fraser's face after the drink and decided that he wouldn't have to hold him down or tie him up, unless Fraser himself insisted. But that might be fun too--they both had handcuffs and Fraser had that convenient little rope thing on his uniform... Jerking erratically a few more times, Ray came in a pink-tinged stream that was immediately washed away.

That was probably how it should be, Ray thought as he realized how creepy his thoughts had gotten while he was jerking off. It was just fantasy, right? He'd never actually want to tie up Fraser and suck out all his blood. He'd have to be completely out of his mind to do something like that, and the thought scared the hell out of him. He wasn't going nuts, was he? As long as he knew it was all fantasy, he was probably all right. That's what he told himself as he turned off the shower and got ready for bed. He told himself firmly and repeatedly until he believed it.

***

When night fell and Ray hadn't heard from Fraser, he began to wonder--not *worry*--just wonder what was going on with him. He wondered if Fraser was so freaked out by what all had happened the night before that he couldn't even speak to Ray. Ray had thought about calling him at the consulate, but had decided to let him have whatever space he needed to deal with everything. That didn't stop him from wondering why Fraser didn't call *him* though.

Calling the consulate got him Turnbull's voice on an answering machine advising him to call again during regular business hours or to page the given number in case of an emergency and, of course, to have a nice evening. Because it wasn't an emergency, he hung up the phone and took a jacket out of the hall closet. Since Fraser didn't have a phone, Ray would just have to go over to his apartment to talk to him.

In the middle of putting on his jacket, Ray opened the door and almost walked into Fraser's raised fist. He jumped back and Fraser immediately apologized.

"I was just about to knock on your door, Ray."

"Yeah, I figured you didn't come over to punch me out. That wouldn't exactly be the best way to do it--waiting for me to just walk into your fist."

Dressed in tight blue jeans, navy blue henley, and a leather jacket, Fraser seemed more solemn than usual as he nodded and said, "You were going out. I can come back some other time."

"No. No, I was..." Ray nervously rubbed his ear and continued sheepishly, "I was coming to see you."

"We need to talk."

"Yeah, I guess so."

After a moment of just staring at each other, Ray and Fraser both spoke at the same time:

"May I--"

"You wanna--"

Ray moved out of the doorway and stepped back into his apartment, and Fraser followed. After a couple of tense moments where they stood in the middle of the room and pointedly didn't stare at each other, Ray told Fraser to take off his jacket and have a seat on the couch. He took the chair across from him so they could maintain a little distance. "So where do you wanna start?"

Fraser had his cop-face on, as if this was an interview where he had to get information out of a witness who may or may not trust him with the truth. "Did you know that man? The one that you killed?"

"No, he said he'd seen me around, but I'd never noticed him before."

Ray must have put more emphasis on 'him' than he meant to because Fraser's next remark was not quite a question. "But there are others here in Chicago. You have seen others like him."

Ray nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. "Yeah. Why?"

"I'm simply curious. I'm interested in the entire subject, but mostly your experiences."

"You don't wanna go hunt them down or nothing, do you? Become like that Van Helsing guy in the movies, stalking graveyards and mausoleums with a bucket of holy water and a big pointy stick ready to wipe us all off the face of the planet?"

"No, Ray, a systematic execution of genocide is not in my plans. What kind of person do you think I am?" Fraser asked incredulously, and Ray thought there was some amusement lurking in there too, but when he answered he was dead serious.

"A good one, Fraser. The kind who wants to serve and protect the rest of the good people."

"I think you're a good person, Ray. Even if you don't often seem to be aware of it."

Ray smiled for the first time all day and shook his head. "We're not all like the creep up on the roof. I've met some nice...umm, vampires. Whoa, that's kinda hard to say out loud without sounding like a complete lunatic."

Fraser seemed to catch himself at the edge of a laugh. Instead he gave his eyebrow a habitual rub with his thumb and asked, "How long has it been since-- How long have you been a vampire?"

Ray felt a chill walk slowly and precisely up his spine at the casual way Fraser used the very word that gave him so much trouble, but with some effort he shook it off. "Not long. A month or so. The first time I saw you--" He broke off, appalled at what he was about to reveal--what he *was* revealing. "I don't really wanna talk about that night."

Fraser nodded and said "I understand" even though he looked just the opposite. He tilted his head and gave Ray that penetrating look he was so good at. "Did you choose this life? Or did somebody do this to you without your consent?"

"So I guess I'll talk about it anyway, huh?" Ray leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling trying to read some easy answers written across the dull off-white surface. When nothing appeared, he sighed. Fraser made it sound like an assault or a rape or something. "I don't really remember a lot of the details, but I never felt...like I was victimized...you know, *afterward*. I asked him 'what did you do to me?' but I think I was just freaking out in the stress of the moment. I accept responsibility for my own part in it. I let it happen. Hey, maybe I *asked* for it. I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could remember more clearly, but then other times, I think it's best not to remember too much."

"Did you know the person who did it or was he a stranger?"

Ray sat up straight in his chair. Was that a hint of jealousy in Fraser's voice? Ray thought he must surely be mistaken--mishearing or misunderstanding what was really there. "He...he was a stranger, but it was weird--I felt like I knew him when it was done. His name was Trevor. I haven't seen him since."

"Did you and he...?" And just like that, the curious investigator faded away in favor of the man who blushed faintly and stammered when talk turned to sex, so Ray knew what he was getting at, but he didn't say anything right away. He wanted to see if the brazen 'suck my blood' Fraser would show up too. "What I mean is...when this...Trevor...did this...took your blood, was it... Was it a sexual experience?"

"Was it *good* for me? Judging by the state of my clothes when I got home, I think so, but I told you the memories are a little vague in spots." Ray looked at Fraser carefully and detected some of that excitement he'd noticed before, on the roof and in his kitchen. "Does it bother you to be turned on by the bloodsucking thing, Frase? It gets you all hot and bothered, but it *shouldn't*, is that it?"

"This is not a new occurrence, being attracted to something that might be bad for me. What comes of it...well, I hope the results won't be the same."

Ray stood up, walked over to the couch, and sat down next to Fraser. "It doesn't have to be bad for you. You just have to trust me not to take too much. Just like you did on the roof."

"About what happened on the roof, Ray, I have a confession to make." Ray watched Fraser swallow hard and shift his gaze so that it didn't quite meet Ray's anymore, before he said, "I could have carried you."

Ray squinted and tried to catch up with what Fraser was saying, or rather what he was implying. "You could have..."

"Picked you up, carried you down to the car, and brought you home or taken you to that butcher shop I followed you to one night--I assume that's where you get your blood from?" He tilted his head questioningly and Ray nodded, taken aback and oddly pleased that Fraser had done the same thing to him that he had done to Fraser. "No, I offered my blood because I wanted to know what it would feel like... to have someone drink from me." Fraser finally made direct eye contact as he said very earnestly, "I liked it, and I want to do it again."

"Huh." Ray's mouth fell open and he started to feel warm all over. "Well, Fraser, you are just...full of surprises. You got layers and kinks and...and--" He waved his hand around in search of the right word or phrase, then gave up. "--and I don't know what all."

Fraser looked down at his hands clenching on his knees and muttered, "I've shocked you, haven't I?"

"Yeah, but I'll live." Ray started to grin. "You're a freak like me. Well, not like me, but just as freaky."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ray. I shouldn't have presumed--"

"Oh no, no no *no*." Ray was almost laughing now from sheer relief. "This is greatness because now I don't have to make my big plea--which would have been pitiful, bordering on pathetic and humiliating-- for you not to reject me because of what I am. You get it, don't you? You really *get* it."

"Well, I want to." Fraser replied with a sly smile, and Ray could see some of his own relief shining back at him. To finally get a secret desire off your chest and have it accepted as no big deal was a freeing thing, and that's what he could see in Fraser.

"So does that mean you...uh...wanna...?" Embarrassed that now he was the one stammering over the subject, Ray licked his lips, surprised and aroused when Fraser's gaze followed the quick movement of his tongue.

"Yes, I do," Fraser said in a voice just this side of breathless as he leaned forward and met Ray's mouth with his own.

Ray closed his eyes and parted his lips for Fraser's tongue, still slightly stunned at how easy it was to get what he'd wanted so badly and yet had nearly written off as impossible. But he wasn't going to waste time wondering and worrying at this point. He had better things to do than think, like pouring every bit of himself into this first slow kiss, like exploring Fraser's mouth and absorbing his taste. Fifty years from now, providing he was still alive, Ray was certain he'd remember this moment with the perfect photographic clarity that he remembered the other important firsts in his life both good and bad.

When Fraser's hand rose to cup the back of his head, Ray realized that he was holding himself stiffly away from Fraser's body as if he was afraid of being too forward. He almost laughed at that notion--he could stick his tongue halfway down Fraser's throat, but couldn't wrap his arms around him? Reaching out slowly, he slid his hands across Fraser's shoulders and cradled his face as he gently sprinkled kisses across his cheek.

Making a gruff sound in the back of his throat, Fraser tilted his head back at an angle, baring one side of his neck in a gesture so trusting and needy that Ray felt his teeth immediately lengthen and sharpen, aching to plunge deep into the pale tender flesh displayed so temptingly. But he couldn't. He had to cool it, not get carried away, and above all, make sure he and Fraser were on the same page here.

"Fraser, are you sure about this? If you just want me to take a drink, I can...you know, without...doing anything else."

Fraser opened his eyes and stared at Ray intently as he said, "Anything, Ray, *everything*. I want it all." Then he ran his hands down Ray's torso to the waistband of his pants, slipping his fingers inside to tug at the edge of Ray's shirt.

Ray sucked in his breath and his stomach at the same time, sending Fraser's fingers deeper inside his pants. "Oh...okay, then... Uh, maybe we should go...ooh. Mmm, yeah..." Realizing he was babbling, he gave up on talking and grabbed Fraser's hand, urging him to his feet and leading him to the bedroom.

Somewhere between couch and bed a switch occurred and Ray found himself being pushed down onto his own bed. His first instinctive response was to push back, shoving Fraser off him so he could be on top, but he resisted. He'd been on top with Trevor and it hadn't really...well, it *had* been good, but not the kind of experience he wanted to have with Fraser. He couldn't treat Fraser like he did Trevor, because Fraser wasn't as strong and couldn't recover from that kind of roughness. And there was that little difference in how he felt about the two men. Fraser had somehow, in the relatively short time of their acquaintance, become his best friend, while Trevor... Ray still wasn't sure what Trevor was, besides a ship that passed in the night--or crashed into him. Whatever, he'd come and gone and, most importantly, had stayed gone.

Fraser would probably come and go too, so Ray had to take full advantage of what time he had with him, and if that meant rolling over and giving up anything Fraser asked for, he'd be glad to do it. And with that thought in mind, he tilted his head back and arched his body up into Fraser's, their erections meeting through layers of clothing that Ray wished would magically disappear. Unfortunately, they had to stop and remove them the conventional way, but they kissed and touched the entire time they stripped, so while undressing might have taken longer than usual, it was much more fun.

By the time they were both naked, Ray was so hot he thought he'd explode before they even got to the bloodsucking part. There was a matching urgency to Fraser's kisses, yet at the same time, he appeared to give every kiss his full, undivided attention, carefully working around the fangs as if he'd been doing it forever. He seemed to be memorizing Ray's mouth, his taste, his scent, the feel of his body, memorizing all of him as if there might be a test later. It was incredibly arousing to be the focus of that kind of attention, and Ray felt his hunger growing, burning at the back of his throat and making his cock leak against Fraser's stomach. And it wasn't just the general need for blood that he woke with each evening, it was a definite need for *Fraser*. He wanted another taste of him so bad, he could hardly breathe. But Fraser was holding him down and kissing him with that intense deliberation, and Ray couldn't find the strength to make him stop.

While Fraser moved down Ray's throat and nipped at his collarbone, Ray choked out a moan and then managed to say, "Fraser...please..."

"What do you want, Ray?" Fraser whispered between nibbles. "Anything..."

"I wanna suck you, Fraser." As soon as the words were out, Ray realized how they sounded, but that was okay because he wanted to suck him there too. However, the blood would have to come first so he could get the fangs under control, otherwise it wouldn't be a fun time for Fraser.

"Yes..." Fraser sighed against Ray's open mouth, flicking his tongue over Ray's fangs while avoiding the sharp points. "Yes, Ray, do it. Do it now." And he turned his head and presented his neck to Ray.

"Okay." Ray thought hard and fast for a moment and then said, "You'll have to let me up first."

Fraser immediately rolled off him and apologized. "Oh yes, terribly sorry."

"Nah. 'S okay, just trying to get more comfortable--for both of us." Sliding one arm under Fraser's shoulders, he took one of Fraser's hands and placed it on the back of his own head. He smiled in approval as Fraser's fingers instantly threaded into his hair, and said, "Give a sharp pull if you start feeling weak or want me to stop for any reason."

Nodding and closing his eyes, Fraser turned his head toward Ray and settled more comfortably on the pillow. Swallowing nervously, Ray reminded himself to stay in control and ducked his face into Fraser's neck. He breathed his fresh scent in deeply and licked at Fraser's smooth throat. He could feel the pulse beating against his tongue, strong and steady--if just a bit fast--calling to him as surely as the low moan that slipped from Fraser's mouth. He slowly ran his tongue down the length of Fraser's neck, then at the base he paused, took a deep breath, and sank his teeth in.

Fraser's hips rose off the bed and Ray reached down and took his cock in a firm grip, stroking gently in a rhythm that picked up speed as he lapped up the warm blood streaming from the two small holes in Fraser's neck. The taste was intoxicating and his head started to spin as Fraser moaned and squirmed beneath him, bucking his hips. He pushed his erection deeper into Ray's grip, encouraging him to jerk harder and faster, while he humped his own aching, throbbing cock against Fraser's undulating body.

Feeling Fraser start to tense, Ray pressed his closed mouth tight against the tiny wounds and squeezed Fraser's cock. He was rewarded with a warm gush of come over his fingers that pushed him over the edge. He thrust hard against Fraser's hip and then froze, as every muscle in his body seemed to clench in pleasure. Licking Fraser's throat until the bleeding stopped and the holes started to heal, Ray pulled away and brought his sticky hand to his mouth. As he licked it clean, learning the bittersweet taste of Fraser's come, the man in question watched, his burning gaze locked on every darting movement of Ray's tongue.

When his hand was clean, Ray used it to unclench Fraser's fingers from his hair. He rubbed the cramps out of them and then laid them gently on Fraser's chest with a grin. "Feeling okay?"

"Mmm hmm... Quite so, Ray. Thank you."

Ray snickered at the drugged sound of Fraser's voice and said, "Are you ever *not* polite?"

"I'm sure there must be some times, but I can't think of any at the moment." Fraser smiled and blinked lazily. "I really can't think of much of anything at the moment."

Ray propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Fraser carefully. The holes in his neck were almost gone, and he was a bit paler than usual, but otherwise his eyes were bright and alert and he looked just fine. "Are you really okay, Fraser?"

"More than okay. For the first time in a long time, I feel...wonderful."

The surprise in Fraser's voice sent a little pain through Ray's chest, but he just nodded and said, "Yeah. You know, uh...you're not what I expected."

Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder, running the tips of his fingers over the lines of the tattoo there. There was something so unbearably sad in his eyes that Ray felt compelled to explain, if not outright apologize. But first, there was something else he had to know. "Fraser...I just fucked you--well, sorta--so why am I still calling you by your last name? That sounds so impersonal when we're both naked."

"Most people here do." Fraser shrugged as if it made no difference to him. "Ray Vecchio called me Benny a lot, but no one else does."

"Benny? I don't think so. Sounds like a--" Because he wanted to be fair to Vecchio, he swallowed back the insult that first sprang to mind and finished, "--a pet name."

"I...I never thought...hmm." He shook his head and continued to touch Ray, rubbing his arm and shoulder, patting his chest soothingly. "My friends back home call me Ben."

"I could do that... if it's okay with you?" He waited until Fraser nodded and smiled, and then said, "Back home, huh? Do you think about it a lot? Going back up north?"

"Sometimes I miss it. It's hard not to. Things...people are very different here."

"Yeah, I guess they are. Not many guys like me up there in the Northwest Areas."

"Territories, and there certainly aren't. If there were, I never would have left." Fraser gave Ray's arm one last squeeze them moved his hand over his own body, rubbing at the drying spunk on his hip. He lifted his fingers to his face, but just before he put them in his mouth he looked at Ray in surprise and said, "It's *pink*."

Ray shrugged and said, "Don't ask me. It's from the blood, I guess."

He could see Fraser digesting that thought with narrowed eyes, turning it over and analyzing it as he licked his fingers and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Interesting. There's a more metallic taste than one expects to find in semen. Higher iron content, I imagine."

"Do I want to ask how much semen you've tasted?"

"Do you want me to ask you the same question?" Fraser gave him a wide-eyed look that didn't even come close to innocent.

Ray smirked back. "You get me hot when you talk sassy, Fra-- uh, Ben."

"I noticed...something happening." Fraser gave Ray's growing erection a playful stroke.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me of something I wanted to do, once I got my regular teeth back." Ray rolled over and slithered down Fraser's body until he reached his cock. He blew a stream of air across the head and watched it twitch. "Uh huh, there's some life down here, all right."

He flicked the tip of his tongue into the slit and was tickled when Fraser made a gurgling sound and grabbed his ears. He shook the grasping fingers loose and took Fraser's cock between his lips, letting it slide slowly over his tongue while he carefully kept his teeth covered. No more biting tonight. No, this was all about sex--plain old human sex. And it felt so good. He didn't even worry about losing control--much--because he'd done all right the first time. Fraser was safe with him, and it seemed as if they both knew it now, where before they'd only been hoping.

Ray tried to shut his brain off and just make Fraser feel good, but he couldn't as his worry suddenly returned full force. What the hell could Fraser have been thinking to allow Ray to do that? He'd taken such a huge *dangerous* chance. Ray could have, he could have, oh man, he could have actually...the impossible-to-articulate thought made his stomach lurch and twist and he had to pull back. He wrapped his hand around Fraser's slick cock to lessen the shock as he removed his mouth and laid his head on Fraser's thigh. He breathed deeply for a moment and didn't say anything when Fraser stroked his hair and breathlessly asked what was wrong. He had no idea what to say, because he wasn't sure he could put a name to the feelings that were darting around inside him at the moment.

This was not like anything he'd ever experienced, not even with Stella, and that thought really weirded him out. He had to calm down before he had a full-blown panic attack. This was Fraser, right? Everything would be okay because it was Fraser--*Ben*, not Stella. It was Benton Fraser, his partner and friend and now...lover, who made him this crazy with mixed emotions and a desperate longing that could finally be fulfilled...

Ray lifted his head and looked up to see Fraser watching him with soft blue eyes gone dark with lust. Ray grinned and winked. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm good now." Then he lowered his mouth over Fraser's cock and swallowed. Fraser's strangled moan made Ray hum with pleasure as he slid his lips up and down the length and fluttered his tongue against the more sensitive head. He licked and sucked until his jaw ached and he felt Fraser's body starting to tense, his cock swelling, and his balls drawing close to his body. And then he was catching Fraser's come on his tongue and swallowing the essence down quickly, so that he could move back up and look Fraser in the eyes before he kissed him.

Ray froze with his mouth just a breath away from Fraser's, when he felt as much as heard, "Everything, Ray."

"No." Ray closed his eyes at the disappointed confusion on Fraser's face and pulled away. "What I mean is...I don't think it would be a good idea. I might...there was this one time that I..." He sighed and said very slowly and seriously, "I don't want to hurt you."

"But you want to make love with me," replied Fraser, taking Ray's erection in his hand and squeezing lightly. "You do *want* to, but you're afraid."

"Hell yes, I'm afraid. I told you, I don't want to *hurt* you. I could lose control and bite you again or...or get too rough or--"

Fraser interrupted him with a firm shake of his head and said, "No, Ray, you won't. It's not in your nature." And then Fraser spread his legs wide and tugged Ray between them. "Now, Ray. You can do it. It'll be just fine."

Even though Fraser was right about what he wanted, Ray tried to resist one more time. "Fr--Ben, please..."

"You can do it, Ray." Fraser stared at him so intently that Ray wondered if he knew that compulsion trick of Trevor's. It would irritate him to no end if Fraser could do it and he couldn't, and that was what it seemed like when Fraser said, "I know you can. Do it."

Ray couldn't look away from Fraser, but he reached out and fumbled in the bedside table until he came up with a squeeze bottle that he took on faith was lube. The cool gel on his fingertips reassured him and he applied it liberally to both himself and Fraser by feel alone.

When Fraser lifted his hips and said, "That's enough, Ray. I'm ready," Ray finally looked down at his hand guiding his cock slowly into Fraser's ass. Seeing part of him disappear into Fraser was the most amazing thing, and then Fraser grabbed his hips and pulled hard. He barely got his hand out of the way before he slammed into Fraser's body, and it was so tight--virginally tight--and hot, an inferno that was burning him up and he never wanted to leave...ever. He thought he could die happy and complete right here in Fraser's grip, and then the urge to move came over him. He pulled almost out and then pushed back, and again and again, pumping like the pistons of a well-tuned engine. Fraser met every thrust with equal force until Ray had to dizzily wonder just who was getting fucked here. And then he couldn't think at all, he could only move and breathe and *feel*, until he was overwhelmed by a sweeping orgasm that left him shattered and gasping for breath against Fraser's chest with strong arms wrapped tightly around him.

After a few recuperative moments, Ray raised his head slightly and said, "Don't you dare say 'I told you so', Ben."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ray," replied Fraser with a satisfied smile.

"Okay then, just so you know..." Ray forgot what he was going to say as yawning became more important than talking. Just as sleep crept over him, he noticed that Fraser was still holding him tightly.

***

Sitting at the table after a brief trip to the all-night market, Ray sipped from his mug and watched Fraser eat a sandwich. He felt a brief flash of envy that he washed away with a mouthful of warm blood before asking, "Have you ever loved someone so much that you couldn't even think about it? It was so big that when the other person left you were completely empty?"

"I thought I did." Fraser met his gaze levelly and added, "But I realized later that I wasn't as empty as I thought."

"Well, I was. I knew it and I don't ever want to feel like that again, Fraser. I don't think I could handle it."

Fraser sipped at his milk and then set it down next to his plate. He looked at Ray as if he understood what he was saying, but just had to argue it anyway. "Why are you so certain that loving someone leads to being hurt?"

"Doesn't it? Hasn't that been your experience?"

"Yes." Fraser turned his head away, looking toward the windows, as if he wanted to remove himself from the memories but couldn't quite do it. "Yes, it has."

"Look...I'm sorry." That sounded so lame, and Ray wanted to smack himself for being insensitive, but just because the truth hurt sometimes didn't mean they didn't have to face it.

Fraser surprised him by turning back with determination radiating in a nice little I'm- gonna-get-my-way-about-this wave that put Ray's back up out of habit if nothing else. "But I'm not convinced of either the futility of love or the inevitability of pain. I have to think--*believe*--that it doesn't always end badly."

"Yeah? Well, you're either a fool or the most optimistic person I've ever met," Ray snapped, uncaring whether he was being fair or not.

"It's not foolish." Fraser gave him a frustrated frown and insisted, "Millions of people love and *fall in love* without getting hurt."

"And millions get their hearts ripped out and handed back to them." Ray was feeling plenty frustrated too, but he didn't know if it was more with Fraser or himself. Just who was he trying convince here anyway?

"Yes, but you don't have to *assume* you'll be one of them." Fraser took Ray's hand from the tabletop and held it tightly. "Can you trust me enough to believe you won't be?"

Ray snorted, but he didn't pull away, instead he squeezed Fraser's fingers back just as tightly. "Trust you? I don't even trust *myself* most of the time."

Fraser looked him in the eye, almost pleadingly, as he asked, "Will you at least give it a try?"

"I'm not sure I know how." Ray covered the lower part of his face with his free hand and looked at Fraser over his fingers for a very long moment, shuffling and reshuffling all the stuff he'd been through lately and thought about what a remarkable man Benton Fraser was turning out to be. That first impression of him had gotten Ray's attention, but hadn't even hinted at the depths under the red serge. He was very glad that he'd gotten a glimpse of the real man behind the facade, and he was even more glad that Fraser seemed to accept the real him, all of him-- the cop, the vampire, the man. He moved his hand from his face to Fraser's, touching his cheek as he said, "So this trust thing...can you teach me?"

Fraser smiled. "It would be my pleasure, Ray."

The End.

 

* * *

 

Please trust me when I say that this is appropriate for Nixxers, no matter how it looks in the template. It'll all become clear as you read.

Title: Alive  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: Due South, crossover, Vampire AU  
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, other  
Rating: R? NC-17?  
Date: November 16, 2000  
Archive: yes, to RatB and anyone else who wants it  
Sequel/series: sequel of sorts to "Temptation Waits" but mostly refers to "Left Turn" But basically all you need to know is that Trevor made RayK a vampire in Left Turn, and Ray got with Fraser in Temptation Waits. If you're curious, the other stories can be found here: http://joy_hs.tripod.com/AmyDS.html  
Disclaimer: Trevor is mine, but all the rest belong to men in suits. And that's cool. Apologies if this title has already been used. I don't get out much.  
Warnings: Nothing too drastic here. The most worrisome thing is the odd (as in not my usual thing) POV--it's not quite limited and not quite omniscient. It's a bit of both--and that's mostly on purpose, so don't blame the betas for "not catching it". At least it's short! ;-)  
Note: Thanks to Barb G, Nicole S, and especially Lori J for beta reading this bit of weirdness. There's one line I'm not completely happy with, but I'm leaving it, for lack of something better.  
Comments, questions, etc. welcome at 

* * *

\----------------------  
Make me your animal  
make me your freak...  
It's understandable  
after all you're only human  
\--Haven't Slept in Years, Matthew Good Band  
\---------------------

"Ah Chicago...what brings me back here? Is it the loveliness of the place? No, not likely. The bustling energy that screams 'look at me, damn you, I'm alive'? That's close. I've always loved coming here. The nasty corruptness and the odd beauty give it a unique personality. Not unlike him, really. Oh, he's not corrupt...yet, but whatever beauty he has is *damned* odd. He's weird looking and captivating, and that combination will take him far in his new life." Trevor smiled down at his audience of one, and asked rhetorically, "Aren't people funny? They don't want vampires who look like accountants. Even vampires want other vampires to be at least slightly exotic looking. Blending in with the populace is all well and good for survival purposes, but deep down, we're so shallow. We want to recognize each other, if not by our beauty then by our freakishness. And in a city like this, 'freak' is such a relative term."

He stared out of the city lights and noticed a few scattered snowflakes falling. Looking up, he saw a sky full of low-hanging clouds ready to drop their contents on the city. He asked solicitously, "Are you warm enough, my pet? We'll move on when the snow starts to fall in earnest.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, freaks. He thinks he's a freak now. Could be he's always thought that, or suspected at the very least. He can be hard on himself, and that's the source of his greatest pain. He thinks that other people hurt him, but he hurts himself far worse." He frowned in consideration for a moment and then mused, "I don't know why he's so easy for me to read. Some are, of course, but that's usually because there's not much there to see. He's more complex than that, but still... Ah well, no matter."

Trevor moved closer to the edge of the rooftop and stared intently over at the window of the next building. With another beaming smile at his companion, he said, "He's finally home. Yes, I know I could have gone looking for him, but this is so much cozier, don't you think? Oh, get off your high horse. You'd do the same if you were as interested in him as I am. You probably have, sometime, somewhere.

"Would you look at that? He's got company." Trevor laughed in sincere delight and crowed, "A Mountie no less. Oh, Ray, that is just so...like you." He pulled his companion closer and said, "Watch them. This is better than television."

The two on the roof watched through the open blinds of the window across the way, as Detective Ray Kowalski walked into his living room, tugging at the arm of Constable Benton Fraser who was still taking his coat off, revealing a bright red tunic. The men seemed to be having a discussion that included a lot of laughing on Ray's part and a mischievous smile on the part of Fraser.

Ray pushed Fraser down on the sofa and then moved out of the watchers' line of sight, perhaps into the bedroom or bath. Wherever he went, he returned shortly holding something in his hand that was too small and well hidden to be observed from this distance. Fraser, on the other hand, could see it quite clearly because he shook his head vigorously and said something that made Ray laugh.

"Well, what do you think our boy is up to? I have no idea either. Yes, I could go over to the fire escape and get a closer look, but why risk giving the game away this soon? Let's just enjoy the mystery, eh?" He turned back to his primary entertainment and said, "And the kisses. Oh yeah, you go, Ray."

After practically crawling into his lap, Ray was kissing Fraser and trying to press the whatever-it-was into his hand, but Fraser seemed to be resisting. Resisting possession of the object, not the kisses, which he returned enthusiastically. After a moment, Ray seemed to give up and tossed the mysterious object onto the coffee table. Then he devoted his attention to the kissing...and touching and groping.

As hands disappeared inside clothing and hips and backs began to arch and flex in response to the hidden caresses, Trevor felt his own body begin to heat and his cock begin to harden. He allowed his teeth to lengthen and sharpen, and smiled widely down at his companion. Flicking his tongue over the tip of a fang, he reached out and pulled the younger man to his feet and took him in his arms.

"Look at them, Alex. Watch how the Mountie gives up to Ray, how he tilts his head back in ultimate surrender. Watch as Ray slides his fangs in so gently...instead of violently as he could have chosen to do. As I could choose to do. You want me to be gentle like that? Like a tender...*lover*? Shall I whisper sweetly to calm your nerves? Shall I compel you to feel calm and restful before I take what I want?"

Long-lashed eyes flashed green fire as rebellion and something darker burned in their depths. The voice that rasped from between cold-reddened lips sounded rusty with disuse but strong-willed and determined as he spoke for the first time since landing on the roof. "If you do, I'll kill you."

Although the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, Trevor did not laugh this time. He stared intently at his companion and wondered which of them, in fact, was the captive. He was quite enthralled by his new acquisition, and wanted to make this, their first bite, perfect for both of them.

Turning back for another look at Fraser and Ray, lost in their own little private world, Trevor took a deep breath of the icy cold air and blinked snowflakes out of his eyes. "As you wish, my pet."

Although Alex might have bared his neck of his own accord, Trevor clenched his bare fingers in the short hair at the back of his head and pulled back sharply. It was an integral part of the game, just like the little grunt that escaped Alex's clenched teeth. "Now we see some real beauty, eh? You have the fire, yes, but do you have the will? Shall I give you my gift? Or shall I just drain you and leave your lifeless corpse on Ray's doorstep? An appropriate gift for a cop, no?"

Alex did not answer with words. His eyes closed, and his body arched against the slighter-yet-stronger one holding him, his erection rubbing against Trevor through the thick layers of their clothes. Trevor knew what Alex thought he wanted, but he wouldn't give it to him. Not yet anyway. He would be much more pliant and fun to play with if he had his human frailties intact.

With a theatrical growl, Trevor plunged his teeth into Alex's neck, feeling the sweet flesh almost burst open, eager to offer its nectar to his questing tongue. After the first few sips, he drew back and watched the twin tracks of scarlet slowly trail down the winter-pale skin to disappear into the darkness of a black sweater. Like night swallowing a life streaking through the very snowflakes that pelted down on them with increasing vigor.

He shook off his fanciful notions and licked his pet clean. He left the blood that had soaked into his collar because it would give Alex the most intoxicating scent. For the rest for the night, no matter where they went or what they did, he'd be able to feel Alex by smell alone.

Alex opened his eyes and growled low in the back of his throat. Too tough to moan and beg, this one was, and that delighted Trevor to no end. "Impatient? Why didn't you come for me? Do you need help?" Trevor fixed his gaze on Alex's intently, working his magic until his pet couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to. Very quietly, he breathed, "Come."

Alex's eyes widened as his body shuddered and his knees went weak. Trevor held him up and watched the pleasure and shock wash over him as the scent of semen rose from the pocket of warm air between their bodies. Licking Alex's neck again, just for the taste of his skin, Trevor whispered archly, "Feel better?"

Alex nodded and let out a long breath. He turned his face up to the sky and let the snow fall on him for a moment, then he spoke again. One word, as rusty and heartfelt as his earlier threat, "Alive."

Trevor wrapped his arm around Alex's neck and laughed. "Glorious feeling, isn't it? Enjoy it while you can, my pet. So few people do." Releasing him, Trevor strode off toward the opposite side of the roof and said, "Come, come, we're burning darkness. And I've got another to show you. This one's an ebony skinned beauty who has more ice than fire. You'll have to see her to believe her."

When Alex caught up with him, Trevor glanced back toward Ray's apartment with a smile that felt almost wistful. Then he grabbed Alex by the waist and jumped.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Awake  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: XF, vampire (well, it's not really an AU in XF, is it?)  
Sequel/Series: sequel to dS crossover "Alive", but takes place before that (but it's better if you read Alive first, I think). This series needs a name.  
Rating: R  
Date: November 19, 2000  
Archive: Yes, to RatB and anyone else who wants it  
Disclaimers: Alex Krycek belongs to CC and company. Trevor belongs to me. Not hard to see who got the better end of that deal, eh?  
Spoilers: None, this takes place in some vague post-Tunguska time  
Comments, questions, and sweet potato pie recipes welcome at   
Thanks to Lori J for beta and for not getting too sick of seeing my name in her in-box so much lately, and to Nicole S for beta and for not letting a little thing like classes get in the way. ;-)

* * *

\--------------------------------  
And this one's for the silence  
And the questions that it brings  
And the smell of time and the reverence  
And the possibilities....  
\--When Something Stands For Nothing, Headstones  
\--------------------------------

Alex Krycek was on what could optimistically be called vacation, but having never been an optimist in his entire life, he preferred to think of it as a timeout. The truth of the matter was that things in his line of work were fairly quiet at the moment, and he could finally afford to stop and take a deep breath. As depressingly new age as it sounded, he realized that he now had the chance to reconnect with himself. Something that would never even occur to him in his normal life, running around trying to save his ass and the rest of mankind if possible--not that mankind had ever done that much for *him*. There was still a tiny spark of nobility somewhere deep inside him that--no matter how hard he stomped on it--never quite went out.

He hated it. But who said that a person had to like everything about himself?

So what did a man with plenty of free time on his hands do with his evening? A cold cloudy evening in Chicago where he knew no one but a couple of occasionally useful conspiracy buffs who never left their respective houses? What else? He went out for a drink.

Since he had plenty of money and wasn't on the run from anyone in particular, Alex went to one of the more exclusive clubs in town. He took one look at the line of people waiting outside, shook his head, and walked right up to the doorman. Clad neck to toe in black leather, Alex knew he looked good enough to get in anywhere, and he was right. Slipping a bill into the man's hand, he walked right in without another glance at the poor suckers freezing their asses off. Trusting the weapons on his person to be sufficient if the need arose, he checked his coat and went to the bar.

With his first sip of vodka, he became aware of someone watching him. A regular person would openly look around until they noticed someone staring, but Alex pinpointed his watcher in mere seconds without ever giving away the fact that he was looking. Ten feet down the bar to Alex's left, a young man sipped an amber colored liquor and watched Alex from the corner of his eye. Other people looked at Alex too, but that was with the attention he was used to and could ignore.

Instinct told him that the young man staring at him through a fringe of longish black hair had something different in mind than the usual. Before Alex could decide whether he wanted to find out what the man wanted or to let it go, he was surprised to find himself draining his glass and moving closer. The young man lounged against the bar and watched Alex come to him with a small, satisfied smile.

Alex stopped a few feet away to catalogue a few quick impressions. The man, dressed in blue jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt, looked younger than Alex by at least a decade, shorter by four or five inches, and whipcord lean. Almost hidden by his hair, pale green eyes watched intensely and Alex somehow knew that the man would be capable of reproducing a detailed sketch of Alex if asked. That very nearly scared Alex for a moment before he got a grip and reassured himself he could snap this guy's neck easily enough. And no one found Alex's bodies unless he wanted them to be found.

For a long moment, they each waited for the other to close the distance between them. With a wide grin, the young man finally straightened from his relaxed pose and walked up to Alex, speaking in a low, continentally-accented voice that Alex seemed to hear *under* the loud music. "My name is Trevor, and you will dance with me...Alex."

And Alex did, silently puzzling over how the guy knew his name and why it didn't make him feel more paranoid.

Moving sinuously to the music, Trevor ran his hand across Alex's chest, going straight to the straps that held his prosthetic arm on. Ordinarily, Alex would jerk away and make a suitably cutting remark about minding one's own business, but this time he allowed the exploration. He was surprised to find it oddly erotic, the way Trevor's fingertips rubbed the soft wool of his shirt into the skin alongside the straps. And when he suddenly dug his nails in, the slight pain blossomed sweetly, hardening Alex's cock as surely as the body writhing against him did.

"Yes." Trevor spoke into Alex's ear, low and insistent, then nipped at his neck, sharply but not quite enough. "It's time to go, my pet."

Something about that brief combination of voice, teeth, and proprietary assumption...and something clicked and Alex *knew*. He'd heard enough stories in his travels to make Mulder turn green with envy if Alex ever chose to enlighten him about the non-alien, but not-quite-human creatures that roamed the night. He wondered briefly what such information would be worth to Mulder. The possibilities made him salivate, so naturally he was eager to add to his store of knowledge.

Moments later, Alex was out in the cold, pulling his black leather duster on and following Trevor down the street and around the side of another building. His deeply ingrained desire to survive at all costs conflicted with his burning need to get a taste of what Trevor was offering, but the sudden realization of how he could turn this to his advantage made Alex relax and go with it. The strength and power that lay almost within his grasp was intoxicating. He would get it...eventually.

Since Trevor had put on a long black coat of his own, he was almost invisible in the deep shadows beside the building until a snow white hand reached out to Alex, and Trevor lifted his head. His pale eyes almost glowed with an inner light, as cold thin fingers cupped Alex's face. Trevor looked deep into Alex's eyes for a long moment, moving back and forth as if reading a book, and then pushed him against the wall.

Alex could feel the rough bricks catching at his hair and scratching at the back of his head, but he didn't try to fight back--he *could* have, of course, but he didn't. And he didn't fight back when Trevor crushed his body against his, grinding his hips hard into Alex's to the perfect point of pain--just the right amount of aching pressure that made him whimper slightly before biting his lip to stop the betraying sound.

Trevor flicked his tongue across Alex's lips. "You know what I am."

It wasn't a question, but Alex nodded slightly anyway.

"And you're not frightened."

A quick headshake and an arch of his hips answered that non-question well enough.

Trevor smiled, a flash of white in the darkness that made the air temperature drop ten degrees and Alex's body temperature shoot higher than ever. He said slowly, "Yes, I chose very well. Let's go see what trouble we can find. Since I'm here, I should check up on some previous...projects. See how they've fared on their own."

He stepped back and ran his fingers down the side of Alex's neck, sending flashes of heat through his gut to settle in an expanding pool in his groin. Trevor smiled jauntily as if he knew and reveled in every single reaction, and said, "Come, my pet. I'll show you a good time... of one kind or another." Then he turned and walked away, deeper into the darkness.

Alex suppressed a shudder and followed, wondering if his fucking would be figurative or only literal. Some twisted part of him hoped for both...just for the comfort and familiarity.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Elegant  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: XF, vampire(well, it's not really an AU in XF, is it?)  
Pairing: Alex Krycek/other  
Rating: NC-17  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Alive" and "Awake", in a series that needs a name  
Date: November 25, 2000  
Archive, yes, to RatB and anyone else who wants it  
Disclaimers: Alex Krycek belongs to CC and company. Trevor belongs to me. Not hard to see who got the better end of that deal, eh?  
Spoilers: None, this takes place in some vague post-Tunguska time.  
Warning: This contains a hint of het, just a little bit of lust for a girl. It's still slash.  
Thanks and hugs to Barb and Lori for excellent, thought-provoking beta.  
Comments, questions, and complaints can be sent to (or onlist where allowed, if that's your preference)

* * *

\------------------------------------  
After all is done, we're alone  
I won't be taken, yet I'll go  
\--Garden, Pearl Jam  
\------------------------------------

The bone-chilling rush of air was easily ignored in the excitement of flight. Alex had realized early on that they weren't truly flying, but it was still an exhilarating experience every time Trevor took hold of his waist and leaped off a building. Then gliding on a current of air before swooping up or down to land on another rooftop. One corner of his mind reeled, trying to figure out how it worked. But the rest of him just went with the flow, wishing he could do this without Trevor's help.

Standing at the edge of the roof of a particularly tall building, Trevor turned to Alex. "We're almost there, my pet. You'll be inside, all toasty warm in just a moment."

Dizzy from the height and the cold and all that had happened to him tonight, Alex could only nod. He sniffled and noticed that he really couldn't feel his nose or ears anymore. And he knew, intellectually, that that should worry him, but something dark surged through his veins, wiping out such mundane concerns as hypothermia and frostbite. He was burning.

"Close your eyes."

Alex jerked his head around to Trevor, and asked for the first time, "Why?"

Raised eyebrows, lips twitching with...amusement? Trevor unbuttoned the bottom half of Alex's coat and slipped his hands inside, cradling Alex's hips and pulling him closer, until the front of their bodies were pressed together. His low voice seemed to resonate inside Alex's skull when he said, "Close your eyes or I will toss you over."

Given such a choice, Alex did as he was told, but he did say, "I'd take you with me."

"I'm sure you'd try, my pet." Trevor's mouth descended on his throat, drawing a moan of anticipation that Alex didn't even try to stop. Holding his breath, he waited for the needle-sharp slide of fangs, the rush of sensation, the pleasantly lusty wave of dark energy that would pick him up and toss him around the cosmos before setting him back on terra firma.

It didn't come. All he felt were cool lips kissing him and a wet velvet tongue licking him. It was nice and stirred up his blood in the utterly predictable way, but it didn't distract him from the icy wind that buffered him or the awareness of the drop that waited just inches from his feet. The hands that circled round and settled on his ass *almost* did the trick, but not quite. The grip tightened almost painfully and he could feel Trevor's whole body tense against him, and then...

Alex was falling, plummeting downward at such a speed that he couldn't have opened his eyes if he'd wanted to. He grappled desperately for a hold on the slippery leather on Trevor's back, finally gripping his prosthetic hand with his good hand and hoping the straps and buckles held under the strain. Trevor pulled his mouth free and laughed--the bastard--laughed long and breathlessly before forcefully tilting both their bodies into a curving swoop that slowed their descent and brought them down to another roof with a jarring thump that almost knocked Alex's knees out from under him.

"You--" Alex couldn't think of anything vile enough in English so he spit out the first Russian curse that sprang to mind. He refused to be surprised when Trevor answered him back in Russian (something about his grandmother and a chicken) and kissed him on both cheeks.

Trevor stepped back with a smirk and walked away, toward a little shed in the far corner of the roof. When he got there, he opened the big metal door and curled his fingers toward Alex like some B-movie Dracula.

On general principle, Alex counted to fifteen before complying with the unspoken request. He ignored Trevor's low chuckle as he walked by him into a faintly lit stairwell, and he stood aside and let him lead the way down the steps.

Two flights of stairs led them into a dark hallway, which in turn led into an elegantly--if gothically--decorated bar. Gargoyles and bats seemed to be a recurring part of the theme, but none of it was as cheesy as one might expect. The patrons seemed to wear mostly black, charcoal, scarlet, and maroon, and Alex was willing to bet that among all the silver and pewter, onyx and ruby jewelry there'd be not a single cross or crucifix. He cast a questioning glance at Trevor who shrugged, "Pretenders only. For the most part."

Alex wondered what they were waiting for as they hovered at the edge of the room, and then he saw her and he knew.

A woman in a long silvery-grey gown glided toward them as if her feet didn't quite touch the floor. She held herself with the regal bearing of a princess who'd never, ever questioned her right to the throne. Her hair was done up in hundreds--maybe thousands-- of skinny braids, so shiny black that they almost sparkled blue. They reached all the way to her waist and caressed her bare shoulders like a silken cape. Alex felt an overwhelming desire to touch it, touch *her*, and then he looked at her face. Smooth ebony skin--just like Trevor had promised--and slick red lips parting to reveal just a hint of sharp teeth, and he wanted her. Simple as that, he'd have tilted his neck and begged her to take him...except for Trevor's hand squeezing his ass in a bruising grip.

Unable to look away from the goddess before him, Alex allowed his attention to shift just enough to be aware of Trevor in his peripheral vision. The vampire was grinning as if he knew and enjoyed every reaction that Alex was having.

Bowing ever so slightly, Trevor took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist, with just a hint of teeth and tongue Alex was almost certain. "Clea, my sweet, I would like you to meet Alex, my newest pet. I suspect that he is mostly housebroken."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Alex." Her voice was almost too high, with a musical tinkle in the words. He didn't care if that usually got on his nerves, he still wanted her.

"I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Clea." His voice, on the other hand, came out in a croak. She held out her hand with that same curious not quite smile, and he took it in his, cursing the glove he hadn't had time to remove. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, surreptitiously inhaling her sweet scent.

When a cool hand clamped forcefully onto the back of his neck, Alex released her hand and looked at Trevor who pursed his lips slightly as he said, "Don't get carried away."

Alex narrowed his eyes and considered several replies, but a certain spark in Trevor's eye told him not to push it, so he tilted his head in a gesture that could signal acquiescence or could be a polite invitation to fuck off. Trevor accepted both meanings with a nod and a slight smile.

Clea showed them to a plush corner booth that had a clear view of the small stage on one wall, stared into Trevor's eyes and into Alex's, and then went away.

"She doesn't have to ask." Trevor explained, waving a hand vaguely. "That's her...thing."

"She's a vampire. And you made her that way."

"I did. She's...well, look at her. Shouldn't such beauty be truly timeless?" Trevor stroked the tips of his fingers down Alex's cheek and then tipped his chin up. "You might get the gift for that alone. She wanted it for other reasons, as I suspect, you do."

"You don't have to 'suspect'. You read me, didn't you?"

"A summary only, not the whole story." Taking his hand away from Alex's face, Trevor looked uncomfortable for the first time that night and admitted, "You hide yourself well, Alex. I'm not...certain... Ah, no matter. We're here."

Alex watched the uncertainty slip away and sensual teasing come back into Trevor's pale eyes. Under the table, a hand slid up the length of his thigh, but before it reached his groin, it withdrew. Alex didn't have time to be disappointed, because a waif-like girl in a short black dress appeared beside their table holding a serving tray. She set a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup in front of Alex, and a glass of dark red liquid in front of Trevor.

"Is that blood?" Alex took a long drink of his coffee and finally felt warm enough to take his coat off, as Trevor had done as soon as they sat down. His attention snagged on the tattoo that wound around Trevor's right forearm, a red, yellow, and black coral snake. The head was on the back of his wrist so that the emerald green eyes seemed to be staring in whatever direction Trevor's hand was pointed. The tail of the snake rested in the soft crook of Trevor's elbow. Alex was so caught up in the artwork--and the amount of pain it must have cost--that he almost forgot that he'd asked a question until Trevor answered him.

"No, it's wine." Trevor took a sip and appeared to roll it over his tongue before deciding, "An excellent vintage as such things go. I enjoyed my taste of you ever so much more. Nothing in this world compares to blood fresh from a warm and willing body." He leaned close to Alex, his nose almost touching Alex's collar, and sniffed deeply.

Alex started to ask what that was all about, but decided he didn't need to know. The hand was back on his thigh, moving at a glacial speed toward where he wanted it.

"Eat your soup, my pet. You need to rebuild your strength." The hand under the table moved a bit faster, and Trevor looked up at him from under his hair and said, "You'll need it."

Alex didn't doubt it, so took a bite of the chicken soup, which turned out to be hot, filling, and very tasty. Before he knew it, he'd finished the entire bowl and was getting his coffee cup refilled by a different waif-like girl in a short black dress. She also set a glass of vodka in front of him that, he discovered upon tasting, was exactly the icy temperature that he liked.

He looked up and found Clea watching him from a few feet away with a self-satisfied expression in her dark eyes. He gallantly toasted her with his glass, and she responded with a regal nod. Then he watched her turn and walk over to the stage, the shimmer of her gown highlighting every graceful curve of her body.

A pale, thin young man--Alex was sensing a pattern here--sat down at a baby grand piano and started to play a romantic melody. Alex was more interested in the hand on his thigh than the music until Clea stepped up to the microphone, then he finished his drink and sat back next to Trevor who kept his hand in its intimate position. She sang an old-style torch song, and she looked so beautifully tortured while doing it that he could ignore the times she went flat or failed to hit the right note entirely.

"She sings with more feeling than skill, yes?"

"She's magnificent."

"You will never have her. Dash your hopes now."

"Why?" Alex didn't bother to hold back his sneer as he asked, "You don't share?"

"No. The blood on your collar marks you as mine for every vampire in the place."

Alex looked around and tried to separate the real vampires from the goth wannabes. It was like some surreal underworld version of that old game show 'To Tell the Truth'. "I thought you said they were pretenders."

"Most. There are some in here who are quite real, but none of them would touch you...tonight." Trevor licked his lips and glanced at a male-female couple a few tables over who'd been giving Alex looks that they'd both been ignoring. "Some other night, when I am not with you, they might try."

"So I'd better add a stake to my arsenal. Any particular kind of wood work best? Cedar? Oak? Ash?"

"No, it's your choice." Trevor smiled, but in his eyes, there was a little flash of worry before he turned his attention back to Clea's performance.

The rush of power that Alex felt at being able to put a scare, however small, into a fucking *vampire* was almost orgasmic. He'd been half-aroused the whole time they'd been here, just from the combined sensuality of Trevor's closeness and Clea's beauty, but now he went fully erect and aching inside the sudden tightness of his pants.

Trevor sniffed and turned his head to Alex, eyes wide and mouth open, his tongue resting on the edge of his bottom teeth as if tasting the air. His gaze went directly to Alex's lap, even though it was hidden by the table cloth. Leaning closer to Alex, he took a deeper breath and almost hummed with satisfaction. He licked at Alex's ear and whispered, "Just enjoy the show."

And before Alex could respond, Trevor buried his nose in the crook of Alex's neck, rasping his tongue over his collar. He lowered the zipper on Alex's pants and then lowered his head to take Alex's throbbing cock between his lips. Painfully slow, wet slide--no fangs, not yet--and Alex kept his eyes on the woman on the stage because if he looked down he would come too soon. He'd never been able to watch. It was the one thing that was just too damn much for him. The heat engulfing him was a surprise considering the nature of the man who sucked him in so expertly, and Alex had to wonder if it was the heat of his own blood in Trevor's veins that fed that warmth.

That thought alone was almost enough to push him over the edge, but then he looked directly into Clea's eyes as she ended a sad, sad song on a broken high note and the knowledge was there. Oh she knew, knew what Trevor was doing, what Alex was feeling, she knew it all. And Alex held her gaze for an impossibly long moment as he arched his hips ever so slightly and came down Trevor's throat. His smile matched hers in ferocity and then Trevor was sitting up and kissing him. Wet lips on his, the exotic taste of his own come on Trevor's tongue, the sharp stab of a fang into his bottom lip, the more common taste of his own blood before it was sucked out of his mouth... All that drove the woman out of Alex's consciousness as he closed his eyes and surrendered for just a moment to this ostentatious display of ownership.

When Trevor pulled away, Alex opened his eyes and cocked his head at him. "Make your point, Trevor?"

"Always, my pet." Wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, Trevor smiled, showing normal human teeth, and drank the last of his wine. Immediately a waif-tress showed up with a fresh glass, then faded away, leaving them alone again.

"What do you want?"

Trevor took a long drink from his wineglass, and said blandly, "That's a wide open question."

"In reciprocation."

"Ahhh...well, let's not be too obvious, shall we?"

"If you're too oblique, you might not get anything."

"Your apparent concern touches me deeply, my pet, but not to worry, I get something out of everything."

Alex stared hard at his companion, trying to read anything at all in the placid exterior. He hated not knowing the score at any given moment. Everything in life was a transaction, and he always wanted to know the cost. He flexed his shoulder to move his left hand from the tabletop to his lap.

Trevor drank the rest of his wine, and asked, "Are you ready to go?"

"Where to this time?" Alex slipped his coat on and saw Trevor glance at his watch.

"Where are you staying?"

Alex shrugged and answered vaguely, "At a hotel."

Trevor considered that for a moment then shook his head. "No, too many people nearby and the walls are likely to be too thin. We'll go to my place."

While Alex contemplated the significance of thin walls and nosy neighbors, Trevor stood up, put on his coat and motioned Alex to his feet. Taking Alex's face in his hand, Trevor looked at him so intently that Alex swore that for a moment his eyes glowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft but Alex could feel it vibrating inside him right down to the cellular level. "Do not worry about anything, my pet. Trust me."

Alex felt his few misgivings sliding away from his consciousness no matter how hard he tried to hold onto them and gasped, "You son of a bitch."

Trevor chuckled and said, "That may very well be, my pet, but what does that make you?"

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Inescapable  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: X Files, vampire, vaguely crossoverish with due South  
Pairing: Krycek/other  
Rating: NC-17  
Series/Sequel: sequel to Elegant, in the newly named "Permanent Midnight Series"  
Webpage: http://members.tripod.com/Joy_HS/index2.html on the XF page and the dS page (go to the dS page for the whole series complete with before-Alex parts)  
Date: December 2, 2000  
Archive: yes to RatB and anyone else who wants it  
Warning: There's a lot of blood, 'cause, you know, it's about a vampire and stuff. And this is post-Tunguska so of course the stump figures in...  
Disclaimer: Alex Krycek belongs to CC and company. Trevor belongs to me. Not hard to see who got the better end of that deal, eh?  
Big thanks to Lori and Barb for beta and for getting squicked at just the right place.  
For Melis, with no icky old girls. ;-)  
Comments, questions, aspersions on my sanity are all welcome at (or onlist where applicable, if you prefer)

* * *

\--------------------------  
Tonight began with anything  
Shadows, a light, a warm breath and a scream,  
Tamper if you like between the doors,  
Can't expect to go out--Breath, Pearl Jam  
\--------------------------

When they left Clea's club, Alex was surprised to find it was by the front door. A taxi came along almost immediately and stopped when Trevor hailed it. They climbed in the back and Trevor gave an address. At Alex's questioning look, Trevor smirked. "Perhaps I need to conserve my strength."

Alex nodded and looked out the window, but casually checked the weapons hidden inside his coat. If Trevor noticed, he didn't comment.

The cab pulled up in front of a big old house on a street full of other big old houses. Trevor motioned for Alex to get out and then spoke to the driver for a long moment before giving him some money.

Alex looked up at the dark windows of the Victorian-style house and wondered just how far the cliche would extend. At least into the ground, he decided, as Trevor took him around back and unlocked a door into the cellar. The door itself was quite a work of camouflage art, well-worn wood on the outside and reinforced steel on the inside.

Trevor locked the door behind them and led Alex down a hallway to another door, which he also unlocked and then locked again as soon as they were inside. Alex's eyes went immediately around the single spacious room searching for exits and dangers. He only found four small windows set in the long wall opposite the door, all covered by heavy black curtains, and two open doors. One was a closet and one appeared to lead into a bathroom.

An antique dresser stood next to the door and near the closet. Trevor laid his keys down on the scarred surface before taking off his coat and hanging it in the closet. He swept his hair out of his face with one hand in a dramatic gesture that made Alex roll his eyes, but he lost all amusement when Trevor stood very close to him and stared at him intensely.

"Alex, listen to me."

Trevor's voice reverberated inside Alex's head until he felt the words as much as heard them. He knew what that particular voice meant and he tried to resist. "No, don't. Don't do that to me again."

"I have to," replied Trevor, with a distinct lack of remorse. He held Alex's face in both hands, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "You will not open the curtains. You will not open the door. You will not try to kill me."

The others were bad enough, but the last order went against every bit of self-preservation that Alex had. *Everybody* was expendable in the right circumstance, that is, if they became a danger to Alex. He tried to hold on, but could feel his will slipping away. Mildly comforting was the fact that Trevor never said Alex couldn't *hurt* him.

With a kiss on the lips that nearly made Alex's skin crawl with its tenderness, Trevor released him and stepped back. "You're not the only one with a strong survival instinct, my pet. I didn't live this long by trusting every boy I pick up in a bar." He stuck his hand inside Alex's coat, running his fingers over the fabric-concealed straps that held on Alex's prosthetic arm. "This fascinates me. Take off your clothes so I can see."

Since the words were spoken in a regular voice, Alex knew that he could refuse and he almost did, just to prove to both of them that he could. Instead, he took out his knife, laid it on the dresser next to Trevor's keys, and hung his coat up in the closet, patting the secret pocket to make sure his gun was still in place. Knowing that he looked awkward when he took off this particular shirt--just his bad luck he'd worn a pullover instead of a button-up--Alex leaned back against the dresser nonchalantly. "You do it."

Trevor smiled and slowly worked the soft wool fabric up Alex's torso, off his right arm, then over his head and off his left arm. Picking up Alex's right hand, he grabbed the tips of the glove's fingers in his teeth and pulled. He dropped the glove and the shirt next to the knife, and ran both hands over Alex's chest and shoulders.

Alex tensed when the questing fingers homed in on what was left of his arm, but they didn't stop, just continued on down the hard plastic of his prosthesis. He kept his eyes on Trevor's face, which showed interest and curiosity, but no pity or horror. That suited Alex just fine.

"What can you do with this?" Trevor started to lift the arm, and Alex allowed it.

"I can drive, hold things, hit people..." Alex lost his train of thought when Trevor bent the fingers of Alex's hand in a rough approximation of a familiar gesture. He stuck two fingers inside the loose fist he had made, and moved them back and forth against the leather.

"What does it feel like?"

"I don't jerk off with it. The limited grip and range of motion makes it not worth the trouble."

"Mm hmm." He continued to inspect the hand and arm, all the way up to the stump, where he rubbed the tips of his fingers around the edge of the cup, sending little tingles through Alex's skin. "And of course, skin on skin is so much better, yes?"

Alex didn't reply, but pulled at the edge of Trevor's shirt, sticking his good hand under the fabric to touch the flat of Trevor's stomach. It was smooth and only slightly on the cool side, and he wondered how other body parts would feel. Warmer, colder, or the same?

Trevor released the straps that held on Alex's arm and laid it on the dresser, then he stepped back and stripped his T-shirt off. Pale and lean, he looked so breakable and easily bruised that Alex's mouth watered and his cock began to harden, which Trevor quickly noticed. He trailed his fingers over the growing bulge of black leather and licked his lips. "Did I mention that I quite enjoy the way you taste, my pet?"

Alex blinked slowly and said, "I don't know, but you could demonstrate."

"Yes, I could, but first things first." With one hand on Alex's shoulder, Trevor shoved him down on his knees, putting his own erection at mouth level for Alex. "You still owe me."

Bracing his hand on Trevor's hip to steady himself, Alex looked up from his position as if he were in complete control. And maybe he was. Thinking so was the only way he could do this. "Take it out for me."

Trevor did as he was told and then rested his hands on Alex's head, moving them restlessly as if he wished the hair was long enough to twist around his fingers. Alex took his hand from Trevor's hip and wrapped it around the base of Trevor's cock, which was uncut and pretty average. Closing his eyes, Alex slid his lips over it slowly and discovered that the skin was warmer than the rest of Trevor, but not as hot as a regular guy's would be. He traced the raised veins with his tongue and Trevor sighed, "Yes, yes, that's it." So he did it again and again, until Trevor moaned and began to move his hips to some inner rhythm.

When Trevor started to thrust into his mouth with increasing violence, Alex let his bottom lip slide off his teeth so that they scraped along the underside of Trevor's cock. The vampire came with a shout and a jet of strangely flavored semen, which Alex swallowed quickly without stopping to analyze it. He let the cock slip out of his mouth and tucked it back inside Trevor's jeans, not bothering to do up the button and zipper. Trevor patted him on the head, patronizing and rewarding at the same time.

Alex rose to his feet and took Trevor's arm in a tight grip. "Now it's your turn to do something for me."

"Yes, of course." Trevor smiled, picked up the knife, and pushed Alex across the room and down onto the bed. The spread was a tacky tiger stripe affair that's only saving grace was that it wasn't made from some kind of faux-fur. Instead, the cover was cottony soft against Alex's bare back as Trevor took off Alex's pants, socks, and boots. Trevor didn't comment on the smaller boot knife, just laid it aside and picked up the first knife. It felt odd to be lying there completely naked while the other man was still half-dressed, but Alex ceased to think about it when Trevor held the blade up to the light and inspected it carefully. "Nice work. Did you get this in Spain, by any chance?"

Alex nodded and watched in fascination Trevor sliding the blade along the side of his hand at the base of his thumb. As a ruby trickle welled out of the cut, Trevor climbed onto the bed, straddling Alex's hips. He licked up the line of blood dripping down his wrist with intense concentration and then looked down at Alex. "You think this is what you want?"

Alex stared back impassively, but his body answered eloquently and in detail. His cock was so hard it stood away from his body, as if trying to get to Trevor any way it could. Trevor noticed this with a smug smile and leaned forward, rubbing his denim covered crotch against Alex's. Alex raised his hips to get more friction, but was soon distracted by Trevor's hand on his face.

"This is what it's all about, my pet." Trevor rubbed the bloody cut across Alex's mouth, squeezing drops between Alex's eagerly opened lips. As the blood poured sweetly over his tongue Alex realized why Trevor's come had tasted odd, it must have had blood in it. His rational mind told Alex this was all dangerous and sick, but a more primitive part of him said this was what he was meant for, what he needed. Something inside him that he hadn't even known was out of whack clicked smoothly into place. He tried to suck at the cut, but Trevor drew his hand away and licked it himself.

In just a few seconds, the skin healed completely, but Alex had no time to marvel over it because Trevor was scratching the tip of the knife lightly across Alex's chest, just above his left nipple, right above his heart. The stinging pain was inconsequential the second Trevor dipped his fingers in the welling blood and drew them down Alex's torso toward his groin. Alex raised his head enough to see the red streaks painted on his abdomen, just before Trevor backed away so that he could lower his mouth and lick Alex clean. Alex arched his hips, encouraging that maddening tongue to move lower, but it didn't. Trevor moved back up to his chest and licked the cut closed as he had done to his own hand. He raised his head to smile at Alex, revealing long, pointed fangs where regular eyeteeth had been just moments before.

Trevor picked up the knife from the where he'd dropped it beside Alex and tossed it onto the floor. "We won't be needing that anymore, will we, pet?"

"Do it." Alex craned his head, exposing his throat.

With a quiet growl, Trevor plunged his fangs in--not into his throat, but into the stump of his left arm. Alex shuddered and fought down a sudden queasiness. This was perverted even by his admittedly broad standards. He reached up and grabbed a handful of Trevor's hair, but the vampire was already pulling away.

"Relax, my pet." Alex stiffened rebelliously before he realized the words were spoken in a normal voice. Trevor licked at his stump and then moved back to his chest, nibbling at a nipple before biting into his pectoral. The teeth were so sharp that the pain didn't really register until a second or two later, but by then pleasure was also taking hold and Trevor was moving to a new spot. Bite, lick the wound, move on, over and over. Each shoulder, his wrist, his stomach, the back of one knee, the inside of his thigh--oh that one really drove him crazy because Trevor's hair was silken torment against his balls. Alex let out a moan that made Trevor raise his head and flash him a blood stained grin. "That's it, pet. Scream for me."

Alex shook his head and closed his eyes, refusing to give up that much. He changed his mind when those fangs raked across his lower belly. Fire and pain ripped through him and he yelled a curse that ended on an unintelligible gurgle. He looked down his body in disbelief to see Trevor scoop up a handful of blood and smear it on his cock, which had lost some of its enthusiasm with that last burst of pain. Arousal returned in a rush under Trevor's agile tongue, licking up every crimson streak and dribble.

With all his blood flowing either to his groin or down Trevor's throat, Alex started to feel light headed and fuzzy around the edges. He started to say something, but Trevor suddenly stopped...everything. He left the bed and Alex whimpered before he could stop himself. When Trevor returned shortly, he was naked and carried something in each hand. He propped Alex up on a couple of pillows and pressed a glass bottle of orange juice to his mouth.

Alex swallowed a mouthful of the cold liquid gratefully and raised his hand to take the bottle. Trevor gave up possession easily, probably because it freed up his hands to open the tube of lubricant he'd also brought over. Drinking the juice quickly and setting the empty bottle on a bedside table, Alex watched as Trevor squeezed some of the gel onto his fingers. Just before he applied it to Alex's ass, he said cheerfully, "I'm sorry it'll be a bit chilly, but blood is not quite up to the job. It dries too quickly."

"We wouldn't want that now, would we?" asked Alex dryly, trying not to flinch as the cold slick fingers started working their way inside his body, prodding and stretching him. The flash of pleasure when the fingers hooked and scraped against his prostate made Alex forget about the cold and his extremely vulnerable position.

"No, we wouldn't," Trevor replied very seriously, then he grinned, bent down, and playfully licked Alex's cock. "You are an absolute delight, my pet."

"I can't tell you how thrilled I am to hear that." Alex moved with the rhythm of the fingers in his ass. "Are you going to fuck me or just play?"

"Don't be in such a hurry." He added another finger with a rough thrust that made Alex close his eyes and bite his lip. "Take time to enjoy each step along the way."

"Yeah well, I'd like to get to the destination before I pass out from blood loss," said Alex, exaggerating sarcastically. He left his eyes closed as he raised his hips in demand.

"And to think you were so quiet when we first met. You're really coming out of your shell, Alex."

Before Alex could respond, Trevor replaced his fingers with his cock and shoved right in. There was something to be said for thorough preparation after all, because there wasn't so much as a twinge of discomfort as he started to smoothly thrust inside Alex, brushing his prostate on every backstroke. It was nice, gentle, and completely and utterly wrong.

Alex opened his eyes and stared up at the smirking vampire. "I'm not a timid virgin. Harder, damn you."

Trevor laughed and blew him a kiss, then reared back and slammed into him so hard Alex almost saw stars. That was more like it. He started thrusting down onto Trevor's rapidly moving cock, meeting him as if fighting to see who'd make the other come first. They were even enough until Trevor propped himself up on one hand and wrapped the other around Alex's straining erection. He stripped it as quickly and forcefully as he fucked, and Alex couldn't hold out another minute. He came with a guttural shout that surprised them both, if the wide-eyed look on Trevor's face was any indication. He relaxed against the pillows as Trevor kept pumping into him, finally coming with a shout of his own a couple of moments later.

Collapsing onto the bed next to Alex after he pulled out, Trevor sighed deeply and stared up at the ceiling for several moments without speaking. Alex was almost asleep when he broke the silence. "I won't turn you unless you really understand what you are asking for, what you would be giving up."

Alex didn't say anything and Trevor seemed to take this as encouragement to explain. "Do you remember Ray? The blond man with the Mountie lover that I took you to see earlier?" He waited for Alex's nod before continuing. "He didn't make an informed choice. Making him was a spur of the moment act on my part. I wanted him, I made him, and then I left him alone."

"That why you watch him from a distance? You feel guilty?" Alex had trouble believing it.

Trevor turned toward Alex and grinned. "Now, now, let's not get carried away, my pet. I do not ever feel guilty. I just...would like not to..." He shook his head and explained in Russian that it didn't feel quite honorable to change a man's life so completely without giving him a proper understanding of what that meant. "I don't know why English fails me in this subject."

Alex had no explanations to offer and could only ask what came next.

Trevor glanced at the clock by the bed. "In about half an hour, you need to get up, put on some clothes and go outside. Stand in the backyard and watch the sunrise. If you want to give it up, you can come back inside. If not, you are free to leave." He remained motionless on the bed as if it didn't matter to him one way or the other what Alex chose.

Alex's thoughts swirled round in his brain. Did he or didn't he? Give up the sun, gain some power. Give up solid food, gain enhanced senses. Live in the shadows, live in the dark, what difference did it make? He'd be living for a good long time, and no fucking black oil would ever hitch a ride in his body again. The slam of the outside door had him rolling off the bed and reaching for his knife on the floor.

Trevor peeked over the edge of the bed. "Relax, Alex. It's just Joe cutting it too close again."

"Who the fuck is Joe?"

"He's staying in the suite across the hall. He mostly lives there, unless he's elsewhere." Trevor reached out to help Alex up, but Alex knocked his hand away. Trevor didn't seem to notice, just brought it right back to curl around Alex's stump as he sat on the side of the bed.

"Is he another of your little projects?" Alex shook the hand off again.

"Oh no, I didn't make him. We're just friends."

"So there're a lot of you out there?"

"More than you might believe, but less than you might imagine if you're given to fanciful thoughts."

"I'm not." Alex snorted and got up for his clothes.

"You *know* the monsters are real, don't you? You already live in the shadows, so what harm could it do if I turn you? That's what you're thinking, yes?"

Alex didn't bother to answer those questions. He got dressed slowly and methodically and didn't care if he had an awkward moment or two. He was grateful that Trevor stayed on the bed and didn't offer to help.

Then he went over to the door, wondering if he could open it. Before he could ask, Trevor spoke in that spooky voice again. "You may go out now, Alex. Return only if you are certain of what you want."

Alex looked back over his shoulder, nodded solemnly, and walked outside to see the sunrise.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Sunrise  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandom: XF, vampire, crossover  
Pairing: Krycek/other, kinda K/other/other  
Series/sequel: Permanent Midnight series, sequel to Inescapable  
Webpage: http://members.tripod.com/Joy_HS/index2.html on the XF page and the dS page (go to the dS page for the whole series complete with before-Alex parts)--Soon to have its own page  
Rating: NC-17  
Date: December 6, 2000  
Archive: Yes, to RatB and anyone else who wants it  
Disclaimer: Alex Krycek belongs to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox, etc. Trevor belongs to me. Joe belongs mostly to himself, but there're some nice fellows in Canada who have a different idea.  
Warning: Some stupid crossover elements. Some blood, but not as much as last time.  
Thanks to Barb, Lori, Melissa, and Nicole for beta reading and support for even my craziest ideas.  
Comments, questions, and cold remedies are welcome at 

* * *

\----------------------------  
Dreamy crush with the sun coming up  
Glance, look, stare  
Stake in my heart  
It beats so fast, so fast it stops  
\--[some song I heard on the US Queer as Folk]  
\---------------------------

In the hallway, Alex could hear the faintest strains of rock music coming from behind the door across from Trevor's. He got the impression of music that was very loud, but muffled by thick walls. He idly wondered if he'd be able to hear a scream from in there, and was he *expecting* to hear screams? There were other doors at the other end of the hall, but he ignored them and let himself outside.

He walked up a short set of steps and stood where grass would probably be in summer, but right now it was only snow, an inches deep blanket of pristine white marred only by a nicely compacted trail of footprints coming around the side of the house. Out of habit, he wandered over, squatted down, and inspected the tracks. There were three distinct sets of boot prints. He recognized his own immediately and picked out Trevor's going by shape, their position relative to his, and the smaller size. The last and freshest set, made by size twelve combat boots worn down at the heels, must have belonged to the mysterious Joe. This information was not particularly useful to him in his current situation, but he gathered it anyway.

He stood up straight and put his arm over his head for a good long stretch. He felt uncomfortable out here without the fake, but hadn't wanted to take the time to put it on. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and detected the smell of wood smoke from somewhere nearby. He looked around the rest of the yard, easily three times the size of the small front yard and completely surrounded by a tall wooden fence and various trees and shrubs. Obviously, the owner of this place valued his privacy. Was that Trevor? Or someone else?

After taking in the details of the back of the house itself, noting the small neat porch and sturdy back door, Alex finally turned his gaze upward. Fluffy pale grey clouds were scattered through the lightening sky, and he'd bet there'd be more snow before the day was out. To the east, blue, peach, and pink peeked through spots between the clouds, hinting at what might be a spectacular color show if the weather was clear.

The rising sun gave the edges of the clouds a silvery glow and he had to stop himself from reading anything deep or meaningful into it. Rays of light hitting particles of ice and dust did not make some mystical metaphor for all that was right and good in the world. That was just science and nature at work--and there was not much particularly noble about either that Alex had ever seen.

This was all a waste of time. Alex knew what he wanted. He had somehow known since the moment he'd realized what Trevor was--not some big revelation, but just a quiet certainty underlying everything he'd done since then. He didn't have to come here, didn't have to let Trevor cut him and suck his blood and fuck him senseless. From an outside view, Alex had put himself at considerable risk, something that he was usually too smart for unless Mulder was somehow involved. He still hadn't figured that one out yet. But Alex had never had more than a passing thought of vulnerability, because he'd had some conviction that either Trevor was just playing or if it did get too rough he'd be able to get himself out of it. He knew how to kill an alien shape shifter, dozens of ways to kill a human, and at least two ways to kill a vampire. Amazing how inventive and resourceful he could get under the right circumstances.

So why had he come here and let Trevor do all those things to him? He hadn't been forced or under Trevor's spell, not in a hypnotic sort of way at least. The vampire had captured his interest almost immediately, both for what he was and for the opportunity he represented. Even if Alex didn't go back inside and get the gift, the sex and bloodplay had been worth whatever risk he'd taken. They'd satisfied something deep inside him that he rarely got to indulge. The flip side of that famed survival instinct was getting a thrill out of flirting with death, or in this case, giving death the finger and a hearty "fuck off."

The long night started to catch up with him, and the cold seemed to sap what was left of his energy, so Alex turned and walked back to the door. He turned the knob half expecting it to have locked behind him, but it turned easily beneath his hand, as did the door to Trevor's room.

Trevor was under the covers and had his eyes closed, but Alex sensed that he wasn't sleeping. While Alex was hanging up his coat, a drowsy voice behind him confirmed his suspicions. "I'm sure you've noticed that people aren't exactly lined up to join the club, so to speak. It's not all black roses and moonbeams, you know."

Without speaking, Alex turned around and started taking his clothes off. Trevor stared at him for a long moment and sighed. "Yes, I can see that you know."

"If you don't want to do it, I'm sure I could get someone else," Alex said casually, casting a glance toward the door and the other room that lay beyond.

"Don't bother. He'd just have you for breakfast." Trevor smiled slightly and curled his fingers at Alex. "I'll do it. Come."

"Again? Well, if you insist." Alex crossed the room and slid under the covers. The sheets were soft and warm against his cool skin, and his eyes closed in silent appreciation for just a second before he looked at Trevor and asked seriously, "How do we do this?"

"It's quite simple, my pet. I'll drink from you, and you'll drink from me."

"We'll be equals then, and you won't call me that anymore." It wasn't a question or a request, and Alex wasn't sure if that's how he meant it. The nickname was growing on him.

Trevor laughed until he had to wipe the moisture from his eyes, and then, quicker than Alex could blink, he was on top of him. His fangs stabbed into Alex's throat, drawing a scream that was as much from surprise as pain. When Trevor ripped his teeth free, he didn't lick the wound closed and Alex could feel blood pouring down his neck. His vision went dim and his hearing went fuzzy, but he still understood Trevor's words. "You will *never* be my equal, not in this. You will be a mere infant compared to me. Don't forget it."

And then Trevor's mouth was back on him sucking and licking, and even though Alex could feel consciousness slowly slipping away, impressions flashed across his mind. Quick yet vivid memories of places that Alex had never been, people he had never known, and events that had never happened to him washed over him in a tide of information, the details of which he couldn't hope to grasp. He stopped trying and gave himself up to the physical sensations.

Every part of his body was screaming and yearning toward Trevor, a tension inside him twisting tighter and tighter, stretching impossibly thin until it was just about to snap, and then something wet touched his lips. When he instinctively opened his mouth and swallowed, agony became ecstasy, transforming him right down to the very molecules of his being as his body convulsed and shuddered in orgasm.

Mindlessly, Alex grabbed Trevor's wrist in a bruising grip, pressing it to his mouth as he sucked and sucked at the blood, pure and sweet like nothing he'd ever tasted in his life, pouring over his tongue. He wanted...he never wanted this to end...this strange rapture of both the body and the mind.

Hours, years, or millennia could have passed and Alex still would have protested when Trevor yanked his wrist away from Alex's mouth. He licked the wound and then pried Alex's fingers loose, as Alex mumbled a sleepy complaint and tried to open his eyes. His eyelids refused to cooperate but he got his lips to move once again before he passed out. "More."

"No, Alex, sleep for a while." Trevor's voice seemed to come from a long distance and Alex decided his advice was sound.

Alex made the transition from asleep to awake as he always did, quickly and silently, not opening his eyes until he'd taken a survey with his other senses. He could feel another person in bed with him, but he couldn't hear any other sounds except the ticking of a clock and the faint settling sounds that old houses made. Bringing his focus in to his own body, Alex suddenly became aware of how much his throat hurt. The raw, burning sensation was even worse than the time he'd evacuated his alien hitchhiker in a missile silo. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

Gently rolling onto his side, Alex opened his eyes to see Trevor sleeping peacefully beside him. Hunger welled up in him and his gums started to ache. When he tried to lick his lips, sharp fangs pricked his tongue and the few drops of blood just made his hunger worse. Knowing of only one thing that would help him, Alex lifted Trevor's hand from where it lay between them on the mattress and brought it to his mouth. A quick slash of his fangs and blood flowed over his tongue, the warm wetness soothing the pain but whetting his appetite further.

Trevor awakened with a groan and wrenched his hand away. "That's enough, pet."

"No, it's not." Alex reached for him again, but Trevor rolled away and got off the bed.

Trevor walked over to a small refrigerator in a corner and opened the door. After shifting around a few of what sounded like glass containers, he shut the door. "Fuck. I'll be right back." He picked up his jeans off the floor, slipped them on, and walked out of the room without bothering to fasten them or put on a shirt or shoes.

Sitting up in the bed, Alex rubbed his mouth and scraped his hands through his short hair. He still felt tired, but he wasn't as sore as he'd expect to feel after a night like he'd just spent. He looked down at his body and noticed only a few smudges of dried blood and spunk, but no scars that hadn't been there before. Just as he was about to get up and help himself to a shower, the door opened and Trevor came in, looking rather sheepish, an expression that sad oddly on his features.

"I wasn't prepared for this, and the sun is still up."

Alex started to ask Trevor what he was talking about, but another guy came in behind him. With his dark hair standing on end and his black pants hanging loose around his sturdy hips, the stranger, whom Alex assumed to be Joe, looked as if he'd just been woken up and was not happy about it. He glared at Trevor until Alex cleared his throat and asked, "What's going on?"

Dark blue eyes turned to Alex with laser intensity, and Alex just stared back and tried to read something, anything at all, in the man's expression. Trevor's voice broke into the charged moment, but Alex didn't take his eyes off the newcomer. "I didn't plan to make you--or anyone at all-- today, so I don't have any human blood on hand. Unfortunately, blood banks don't exactly deliver, so... Joe."

Trevor motioned at the other man as if his name said it all, but the growling in Alex's stomach made him impatient for cryptic statements. "What about him? What are you--" Suddenly, things started to click into place, and for some reason, what Trevor seemed to be suggesting unsettled him. "You want me...you want me to feed off him?"

"Sorry, pet, but after what I've already given, I can't give you as much as you need, and animal blood won't do it for your first time. You will only take enough to get you through the hours until the sun goes down again." Trevor shrugged and motioned Joe forward.

Joe walked over to the side of the bed, and spoke over his shoulder while looking down at Alex with an anticipatory gleam in his eyes. "That's a pretty one, Trev. Can I make him suck me off first?"

"He might bite it off if you don't ask nicely." Trevor laughed and crawled onto the bed behind Alex, wrapping himself around him. His jeans were surprisingly soft against the bare skin of Alex's back and sides. He beckoned Joe forward and dipped his head to nuzzle Alex's neck, his moist lips sending little fuck me signals to the rest of Alex's body.

Joe straddled Alex's legs, first pulling the sheet and blanket out of the way to bare Alex to his gaze. He tilted his head to one side as he inspected Alex's body, his gaze finally going from the stump up to Alex's face. Alex met his eyes defiantly and was surprised to see a slight smile kick up one corner of his mouth. One big square hand cradled the back of Alex's head while the other wrapped around what was left of his arm, and Joe pulled Alex's face into the crook of his neck.

Alex didn't have to be told what to do next. He opened his mouth wide and pushed his teeth into smooth skin until two small holes yielded a gush of warm blood. He swallowed deeply and felt his cock harden. Long, slender fingers appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, stroking him, and he recognized Trevor's touch right before he shut his brain down and sucked. Strangely, the bits of Joe's life that washed over him were mostly pieces of music and feelings of fierce possessiveness and aching loss, instead of the more concrete images of people, places, and things he'd gotten from Trevor. He'd wonder about it later, but for now...

The blood satisfied his burning thirst, but being sandwiched between Joe and Trevor fed an entirely different fire in Alex. He would have gone on drinking until every drop was gone, but Joe's fingers tightened on his hair and pulled him back. A feral growl slipped out before Alex could stop it, and Joe grinned before leaning in and licking a stray drop of blood from the corner of Alex's mouth. While he was there, he slipped his tongue inside for an exploratory kiss that Alex allowed just because he was feeling so good and replete.

Trevor hummed his approval against the back of Alex's neck when he started to rock his hips, shoving his cock deeper into Trevor's fist. Joe freed his mouth and let go of Alex's head, but before Alex could wonder why, Joe leaned over Alex's shoulder and kissed Trevor deeply. The sound of their busy mouths licking, smacking, *breathing* right next to his ear and the feel of Trevor's smooth chest against his back and Joe's furry chest against his was all too much for Alex. He thrust once more into Trevor's hand and came hard, shuddering and gasping for breath as shivers of pleasure raced over and through him like wildfire consuming everything in its path.

When Joe moved away, Alex sagged back against Trevor like a marionette with its strings cut. He was suddenly exhausted and sleepy again, and he felt Trevor lay him back against the pillows and pull the covers over him before leaving the bed. Voices drifted over him, disembodied and soft against his ears.

"You gonna let me play with your new toy, Trev?"

"That's up to him."

"Nah, it's up to me."

"Maybe, maybe so, but don't underestimate him or his strength."

"I don't. The fucker would've drained me if I'd let him."

"I wouldn't have let that happen, Joe. Take a bottle from the fridge before you go."

"You're too fucking good to me."

"That's what I keep telling you, pet."

"Save it for the newbie. I'm nobody's pet."

The voices stopped abruptly with the closing of the door, and Alex drifted off to sleep.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Apparitions  
Author: Amy B.  
Fandoms: XF/DS/HCL crossover, vampire, AU all over the place  
Pairings: Alex Krycek/other, implied Fraser/RayK, implied Joe/Billy  
Rating: NC-17  
Date: December 19, 2000  
Archive: Yes, to anyone who wants it  
Series/sequel: follows "Sunrise", Permanent Midnight Series. This is #9, all of it including the pre-Alex parts can be found on a new page all its own: http://joy_hs.tripod.com/permanent.html  
Disclaimers for crossover series with original characters are usually a nightmare. Basically, some are my characters and some belong to other folks and corporate entities. If you made it this far, you probably know which ones are which. I'm not making anything off this, and that's all that matters, right?  
WARNINGS: all the usual bloodplay plus character death (it's in the past, but still...)  
Notes: I know how ridiculous this series is. I swore I'd never do the Billy-RayK confusion thing or the every guy in the universe is gay/bi thing, but it has been a lot of fun, so I refuse to apologize for it. I'm also fairly sure this breaks all the 'commandments of successful crossovers', but again...so what? Thanks to my lovely beta readers Lori J, Nicole S, and especially Barb G who probably deserves a co-writer credit, if for no other reason than for her help with Joe. She really helped him stay in character. All remaining mistakes/inconsistencies/confusing bits are my fault.  
For Zen, whose enthusiasm and generosity are always inspiring. For Nicole, whose beautiful cover was also quite inspirational. (check it out at the link above)  
Comments, questions, or tell me I suck at: 

* * *

\-----------------  
Drained and blue  
I bleed for you  
You think it's funny  
Well, you're drowning in it too  
\--"No Excuses", Alice in Chains  
\----------------

Alex woke up to a faint scraping noise coming from somewhere overhead. He stared up at the ceiling and suddenly he could hear a conversation from upstairs almost as clear as if it was taking place in the same room. A man was complaining about the idiot clerk down at the hardware store and how bad traffic had been on the drive home. A woman gave sympathetic responses and made kitchen noises--doors and drawers opening and closing, water running, pans and dishes rattling--noises Alex shouldn't be able to hear. As he shook his head and sat up, the sounds faded away back out of his range and all he could hear was Trevor snoring lightly beside him.

Alex looked down at the vampire with some amusement, and then got up and went into the bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror and was surprised to find that he looked pretty much the same as always. The fact that he still had a reflection didn't strike him as odd until he was standing in the square glass shower with hot water cascading over his head. So he had to admit that he didn't know everything there was to know about vampires, but he still knew plenty, like what the hunger felt like.

He was feeling it right now, an aching emptiness in his stomach and a fiery dryness in the back of his throat that no amount of water seemed to satisfy. The fangs growing in his mouth cut his tongue and lips, and the drops of blood from the tiny wounds didn't soothe his thirst so much as make it more specific. He didn't want 'anything that would stop the pain' anymore. He wanted blood, warm and savory and in great quantities.

Finishing up his shower, he dried off, wrapped his towel around his waist, and went into the other room. He strapped his arm on and then put on his clothes, vaguely wishing he had some fresh ones. He'd been in situations where he'd worn the same clothes for much longer than two days before so it was not exactly a big deal, just a mild comfort issue. As he was putting his knives back in their proper places, Trevor got out of bed with a luxurious stretch and a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Going somewhere, my pet?"

"I'm hungry," Alex said with rather significant understatement, glancing at the clock that read six-thirty.

"Let me get dressed and we'll go out for a bite." Trevor smiled, presumably at his own perceived cleverness and disappeared into the bathroom.

Alex was towel-drying his hair and trying to focus his hearing on different parts of the house, when the doorknob rattled as if someone had tried to open it and found it locked. A few seconds and a couple of clicks later, the door swung open and Joe walked in, bare-chested and carrying an undetermined piece of clothing in his hand.

He seemed unconcerned to find Alex standing there with a knife in his hand, just nodded a greeting and went to Trevor's closet. He rummaged around briefly, finally taking out a black t-shirt and putting it on. Trevor walked in as Joe was pulling a ragged black sweater over his head, and said, "Is that my Jim Rose T-shirt?"

Joe stuck his head through the collar of his sweater and sneered. "Like I'd steal clothes from your skinny ass."

"You would. You have no respect for other people's property."

"I left *him* alone, didn't I?" Joe tilted his head toward Alex, who bristled at the implication that he was a thing to be taken or not. He started to say something, but held his tongue, deciding it would be better to wait until Joe actually made a move before proving that no one did anything to Alex Krycek without his permission. He rubbed his hand over his prosthetic arm and thought fiercely that never again would he be at somebody else's mercy.

Trevor let that challenge lie, and changed the subject as he pulled his own clothes on. "I thought I'd introduce Alex to the butcher shop tonight. Would you like to join us?"

"I prefer mine on the hoof," said Joe with an unlikely wink in Alex's direction. "But yeah, sure, I'll go."

Alex remained silent while Joe and Trevor continued to talk and get ready to go out. He could have contributed to the conversation, at least enough to remind Joe that he did in fact have a *name*, but the hunger was starting to consume more and more of his attention. He found himself staring at Joe's neck as the other man fiddled with one of his earrings and remembering how the skin had given way as his brand new fangs had punctured it. How the blood had erupted gently onto his tongue and slid so satisfyingly down his throat.

Swallowing as his mouth started to water, Alex pulled his gaze away from Joe's neck only for it to snag on one of Trevor's pale wrists as he reached for his coat. Fragile bones, blue-green veins just under the surface of fine pale skin, just the slightest prick of his teeth and he'd have a mouthful of that warm blood that he could see pulsing, pulsing, racing through those tiny--delectable--veins. Almost entranced by the promise of nourishment, he reached out for it, but a big hand caught his in a strong grip.

"Not just yet, junior." Joe shook his head and then looked over at Trevor and said, "We better get going before he gnaws somebody's arm off."

Trevor's smile had an edge of compassion as he nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry, pet. I should have known you'd be very hungry by now. Let's get moving."

As he followed Trevor and Joe out into the hallway, Alex felt compelled to mention, "There are people in the house upstairs. I heard them. Do they know about us?"

"They're my caretakers. They pay the bills, keep up the repairs, and attend all those bothersome daytime details," said Trevor, locking the door behind them.

"So if they're your servants, why are you the one living in a room in the basement?"

"I'm not actually here that often. Joe and a few other friends also use the rooms when they're in town. The Marshalls run daytime errands, do laundry, et cetera, in exchange for free housing, a monthly check, and being assured that none of the guests will try to drain them." Trevor locked the outside door behind them and smiled at Alex. "Maybe I'll give you a key before you leave."

"I wouldn't need one if I really wanted in."

"Yes. Well, consider it a courtesy, or just an intelligent choice not to piss off someone who can rip your throat out." Trevor smiled sweetly and lengthened his stride to catch up with Joe, who was already standing on the sidewalk lighting a cigarette.

Turning the threat over in his mind, Alex caught up with the other two men, who had started walking down the snow-covered sidewalk at a quick pace. After about a mile, they found a cab to take them to a different part of town, less middle-class residential and more lower-class desperate. The cab let them out at a corner, and Joe took the lead, striding down the street with a predatory grace that Alex almost admired.

Trevor and Alex followed him into an abandoned building, their eyes adjusting to the darkness until Alex was surprised at how clearly he could see. He could also smell quite clearly and that was not such a blessing since the building had obviously been used as a squat for a very long time. He found that if he concentrated on something else-- the hunger burning in his throat, the sight of Joe's solid bulk in front of him, the feel of Trevor next to him--the stench faded to a more normal human range.

Joe walked up to a skinny kid of indeterminate sex and leaned close, running his fingers down its arms and whispering into its ear. By the time Alex focused his hearing, Joe had already stopped talking and started sucking.

The wet, slurpy sound of blood being sucked and swallowed by someone else while he was almost starving to death goaded Alex into action. He stalked over to Joe, intent on taking the kid away, but a noise drew his attention to the other side of the room. Another kid, more obviously male, was trying to edge his way to the door, but he froze when he locked eyes with Alex. Alex walked over and took the boy's face in his hands. Wide eyes stared up at him, and Alex caught an apology trying to slip past his own lips before he lowered his head and sank his teeth into the kid's neck. The rush of blood was like ambrosia and orgasm and everything good that had ever happened to him in his life. He sucked and swallowed and ignored the little flashes he got of the kid's pitiful life. Abuse and poverty, fear and anger, hustling and stealing to survive... he could have guessed all that just from seeing the kid in his present habitat.

Alex tried to shake off the hand that clamped down on his shoulder, but the fingers dug in and Trevor's voice broke into his consciousness. "That's enough, Alex. You don't have to kill him."

Alex licked the wound without having to be told and withdrew, letting the boy slump down against the wall with a blissful smile on his face and wet spot on the front of his pants. Trevor leaned down and pressed two fingers to the boy's neck. After a moment, he straightened and said, "I think you stopped just in time, my pet."

Alex nodded and licked at a sticky spot beside his mouth. His teeth were going back to normal, the hunger was finally sated, and he felt normal for the first time since his change. He turned and found Joe smoking a cigarette and looking rather fondly down at his own victim. Joe grinned when he noticed Alex watching him. "I like the junkies who've just scored best. You get that second-hand high. Nice, eh?"

Alex shrugged and did a quick inventory of his senses. If the kid he'd drunk from had been on anything, Alex wasn't feeling any residual effects so far. He did notice that Joe was checking him out, but he didn't say anything as Trevor appeared beside them. "If we're through here..."

"Yeah, yeah." Joe dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground his boot heel into it. He slapped Alex lightly on the back as they walked out. "It just gets better and better, don't it?"

Alex gave Joe a sideways glance, noticing the substantial bulge of his erection behind the fly of his jeans. He couldn't help but wonder how the other man would be. Alex instinctively knew that the only way he'd want to fuck with Joe was with his newfound power behind it. And powerful was exactly how he felt right now. Strong, fast, like he could do anything at all.

Like he could make some people pay for the things they've done to him. Not those ignorant Russian peasants, oh no, the ones right here at home. The smoking bastard, some of those left over old fucks in New York...Mulder. Or maybe not Mulder. When it came right down to it, just what had Mulder ever done to him? Beat him up a little? Nothing that Alex hadn't allowed or deserved in some way or another. It was all give and take with him. That double-dealing Morley-smoking son of a bitch was another story altogether.

Only vaguely aware that they'd been walking, Alex was jarred out of his musings when Trevor stopped and knocked on a door. He looked around and noticed they were in an alley behind a row of old buildings, and the door was the exact same color as the fading bricks. Vampires must all be masters of camouflage and wouldn't he fit right in with them? After all, that was what he was all about, blending, fading, hiding in plain sight.

Joe was giving him that lustful scrutiny again, as if he was not only mentally undressing Alex but judging his performance too. From the gleam in Joe's eyes, Alex guessed that he must have passed whatever test he'd just been given.

Just as a small panel opened in the door, Trevor glanced over his shoulder and said, "For pity's sake, Joe, could you stick to just taking my clothes?"

"It's a free fucking country." Joe showed his teeth, but Alex wouldn't have called the expression a smile.

"I'll do whatever or *whoever* I want, whenever I want. Both of you can stop treating me like an object," Alex said with an air of boredom, baring his own teeth in challenge.

He was gratified to see Trevor take a small step back before he raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes. Well." He turned to the door. "Well, Roland, now that we've entertained you, how about letting us in for a drink?"

A deep rumbling laugh met the men as the door opened wide. A large man clapped Trevor on the shoulder as he stepped through the door. "You always pick the lively ones, brother."

"Roland, this is Alex. I'm sure he'll make an excellent customer, but be careful patting him down. The boy likes his sharp things." Trevor turned to Alex as he stepped into the entranceway and suggested he hand over his weapons before Roland searched him. "Otherwise, you can't come any further."

After a moment of considering to refuse, Alex laid his gun and a knife on a small table next to the door. Trevor cast a significant glance at his feet and Alex reluctantly handed over the knife in his boot, too. Roland nodded with approval and then proceeded to pat him down anyway. "Sorry, but I can't trust you yet. I'm sure you understand. Have fun, boys. And Joe, don't flirt with my wife. You're not her type."

"That's not what she says." Joe winked and sauntered down the stairs like he owned the place. Hell, maybe he did.

Alex followed Trevor down the stairs and through another door into what looked like a small liquor store. Only most of the stock was refrigerated and red. Alex stared at the cases in confusion. "Why would you pay good money for some cold crap in a bottle when you can get it fresh anytime you want? This whole city is a buffet full of tasty little dishes walking around, ours for the taking."

"Some have moral qualms about feeding from humans, and some like the convenience of eating at home." Trevor shrugged. "It's just an option, and now that you know about it, we can go have that drink."

Alex nodded to the man behind the counter who hadn't said a word and followed Trevor across the hall and into a bar. This one was nice, but not done up in the vampire trappings of Clea's place. It looked like a bar you'd find in a hotel or in a quiet neighborhood where most of the clientele are regulars. Soft rock music played on the old-fashioned jukebox at a lower volume than in most bars, and the room was over half full.

Joe stood at the end of the bar sipping from a glass of whiskey and saying something that made the red-haired bartender laugh before she moved away to take an order from a waitress. Alex joined him and ordered a vodka as soon as the bartender came back.

"Sure thing, honey." She looked over his shoulder and her smile widened into a delighted grin. "Trevor, when did you hit town?"

"Scottie, my darling, I couldn't go another day without seeing your sweet face." Trevor grabbed her hand and placed a smacking kiss on the back.

Scottie rolled her eyes and took her hand back. "Yeah, right. Did you get bored with this old punk--" she tilted her head toward Joe "--and make yourself a new running buddy?"

"Hey, bite your tongue--or I can do it for you," said Joe, emptying his glass and sliding it toward her for a refill. Alex had trouble believing that anyone could be bored with Joe around.

"And there you have it." Trevor laughed and ran his hand down Alex's fake arm. "Alex has his own charms."

Scottie gave Alex a look that he often got from women and sighed. "Yeah, I can just imagine."

"Can I get a shot of A Neg when you stop drooling over my pet?

"Don't underestimate me, Trevor. I can do both." She winked at Alex and then moved away to fill their orders.

"I take it that was Roland's wife that Joe's not supposed to flirt with?" Alex asked with an arched brow.

Trevor nodded and seemed about to speak until he got distracted. He stared at a couple in one of the booths along the wall and smiled. He took the glass that Scottie set in front of him and said, "You boys behave. I need to go to talk to a man about some business. I've been trying to sell old Harry a property in the south of France for ages, and maybe tonight we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement."

Alex watched Trevor walk over and take a seat in the booth with a well-dressed man and woman who looked more suited to Wall Street or Lakeshore Drive than an underground vampire bar. He turned back to Joe. "So Trevor owns property. What do you do for a living?"

"Living. That's a good one," said Joe with a snort. He took a long drink from his glass and lit a cigarette. "I get by." He blew out a cloud of smoke and said off handedly, "I used to have a band."

"Yeah? Before?" Alex looked at Joe's face closely to see if maybe he recognized him, but he got distracted when his gaze slipped down to Joe's neck. That spot right *there*, just above the black cord of his necklace was the place where Alex sank his fangs in and drank his fill. If not as much as he'd wanted, at least he got enough to calm the hunger for a few hours.

"Yeah. Before." Joe took a long drag off his cigarette and shot Alex a look from the corner of his eye. "Stop staring at my neck...unless you *want* me to fuck you."

Alex took a sip of his drink and tried to think of something to talk about that didn't involve fucking or drinking blood. Strange how those two urges seemed to be taking up so much space in his mind at the moment. Usually he had so many more important things going on that sex had been an afterthought, but now... "Maybe I want to fuck *you* instead."

"Ha. I don't fucking think so." Joe crushed out his cigarette and then looked up, all the amusement draining out of his face as his gaze locked on something over Alex's shoulder. "Billy." The word slipped out so softly that Alex doubted Joe knew he'd spoken it.

Alex glanced around, but didn't notice anyone staring back at Joe or paying either of them the slightest bit of attention at all. There was something familiar about the blond man who had just walked up to the middle of the bar. Angular features, rangy build, thick, spiky hair--where had he...? Of course. Alex had seen him from a much greater distance before. He was Trevor's cop. What did he call him? Ray? Yeah, Ray. He turned back to say something about it to Joe, but noticed that it was Ray that the other man was staring at so intently.

"Billy." Joe whispered again, his eyes narrowing as if a sudden pain struck him.

"Trevor said his name was Ray. You know that guy from somewhere?"

Joe shook his head and stared at Alex as if just noticing his presence. "What?"

"I said, Trevor showed me that guy last night and called him 'Ray'."

"Ray? Huh." Joe looked at the man sipping a glass of blood and shook his head again. "Looks like Billy to me."

"Who the hell is Billy?" Alex asked, exasperated with this whole bizarre conversation.

"None of your fucking business, junior." Joe dug around in his pocket and then tossed some crumpled bills on the bar. He grabbed Alex by the lapel of his coat and pulled him into his personal space. He smelled like whiskey, blood, and something dark and hot that tightened Alex's gut. "We're gettin' outta here. Let Trevor catch up when he's done with his business."

Alex licked his lips and ignored the tug on his libido long enough to protest. "Stop calling me that. My name is Alex."

"I'm so fucking sorry, *Alex*." Joe spoke with exaggerated mocking politeness, even as he slipped one thigh between Alex's legs, rubbing against Alex's sudden erection. "Please, *Alex*...unless you wanna give everyone a really exciting floor show?"

Alex blinked and stepped back, shaking Joe's hand loose. "I don't have to do anything you say."

"No." Joe cast a significant glance at his crotch, and lifted Alex's upper lip. Before Alex had a chance to smack his hand away, he dropped it again. "Now you've bared your fangs and growled at me. Feel better?" He tilted his head toward the door. "You know you want to..."

This time, Alex led the way out into the hall and up the stairs. By the time they got to the top, Roland had his weapons already out and Alex put them away efficiently, nodding at Roland's amiable good night.

Once out in the cold night air, Joe stuck his hand in the waistband of Alex's pants and pulled him down the alley and into the deeper shadows next to a dumpster. For just a moment, Alex's new more acute senses rebelled and sent the vodka rolling in his stomach. He held his breath until he felt like he had it under control, but by then Joe had him pressed up against the wall with one arm braced on the bricks next to his head and the stench of garbage was the last thing on his mind.

"I don't kiss," Joe said against Alex's cheek as his free hand worked its way into his pants. Then he took Alex's mouth in a deep kiss that seared his nerve endings and made him squirm against Joe's body.

When Joe released Alex's mouth long enough to take a breath, the sensual fog in Alex's head cleared enough for him to say, "You kissed me before. And you kissed Trevor."

"Yeah, but I didn't fucking *like* it." Joe licked Alex's lips and then nipped at his chin, his hand busy on Alex's cock.

Alex shifted his hips, pressing deeper into Joe's grasp as he worked his good hand between them. "Liar."

"Shut the fuck up." Joe reached down and put Alex's hand on the fly of his jeans, and then took his mouth in another deep kiss, cutting off Alex's low laugh with his tongue. Alex took that advice to heart and concentrated all his attention on trying to get inside Joe's jeans and then...he was in, wrapping his hand around a thick, hard erection. He squeezed hard enough to make Joe rise up on his toes, but then he pushed Alex against the wall and started stroking Alex's cock fast and rough.

Alex tilted his head back and Joe immediately took the hint, biting into his jugular with a little growling noise that quickly became a wet slurping. The sharp pain muted and transformed into a rush of pleasure that ran from Alex's neck to his cock like an electrical charge, setting him off in convulsive orgasm. A moment later, Joe's dick swelled and stiffened in his grip, spitting warm come into the fingers he cupped around the head as Joe withdrew his fangs and licked the wound until it closed.

Pulling his fingers out of Alex's pants, Joe stuck them in his mouth and sucked them clean, holding Alex's gaze the whole time. Alex pulled his hand free and started to do the same, but Joe grabbed it and took Alex's fingers into his own mouth, running his soft, wet tongue over the tips and down into the sensitive crevices between, sucking up every trace of come.

Alex's teeth were at full fang and he was panting from the effects of his orgasm and the need to bite. He wanted another taste of Joe's blood so bad and he was going to get it just as soon as Joe let go of his fingers.

****

The slam of a door was like a shotgun blast in the charged silence between the two men. Joe stepped back and spun around ready for a fight before he realized it was only someone leaving the butcher shop. He peered around the edge of the dumpster and saw Billy walking down the alley toward them holding a paper sack. Joe stiffened and felt like he'd been kicked in the balls.

As Billy drew even with their position, Joe stepped out of the shadows and spoke in a low voice. "Billy."

Billy stopped and looked at Joe in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Where the fuck have you been, Billy?" Joe asked, his voice as rough as sandpaper in his throat.

"My name's not Billy. It's Ray." Billy spoke slowly and politely, fucking with Joe's head again. "Am I supposed to know you or something?"

Joe squinted at him and walked closer. Billy looked just the same. His voice sounded a little different, maybe because he quit smoking and screaming so much. Didn't matter. He was back.

"What are you doing?" Taking a step back that was probably instinctive, Billy shot a confused look over Joe's shoulder, but Joe couldn't be bothered to see if he was looking at Alex or something else. "What's he talking about?"

"I have no--" Alex tried to answer, but was interrupted by a low growl and a voice calling Ray's name from somewhere behind them. Joe turned to see a Mountie and a large white dog that looked like a wolf advancing cautiously. The dog was crawling on its belly but still growling, as if submission was not its own idea.

"Stay the fuck away." Joe snarled at both men and the animal. All three froze right where they were.

"It's okay, Fraser. We got a case of mistaken identity is all." Billy gave Joe a cautious look and started to walk around him, but there was no fucking way he'd let Billy go. He grabbed him before Billy could get away...again.

"The fuck it is, Billy," Joe snapped, jerking Billy closer to him. Billy was harder than he remembered, but he still felt like Billy and smelled like Billy and Joe would be damned if he'd let him go again.

As Billy struggled against him, Joe closed his eyes and just absorbed the familiar feeling. He could hear the Mountie coming closer and speaking. Alex talked back to him, but what they said was inconsequential because he finally had Billy back. He kept struggling, so Joe turned him loose and took the sack from his hand.

"For the last time, my name is not Billy," the man was sounding agitated but he didn't fight anymore. Billy knew how far to push and when to give in.

Joe set the sack down on the ground, straightened to his full height and advanced on Billy again knowing that when it came right down to basics, Billy wouldn't deny him.

His eyes widened as Joe shoved him against a wall, sinking his teeth into Billy's neck as his arms wrapped around him tightly. The images that flowed into Joe's mind as the blood flowed down his throat were completely unfamiliar to him. He saw this man graduating from a police academy and getting married to some blonde woman. What the fuck? Joe saw Trevor turning him, saw him fucking Trevor and then he was fucking another dark haired man that was not Joe. It was that Mountie and he was saying "Ray" over and over again.

A hand grabbed the back of his head and jerked a handful of hair viciously until Joe ripped his fangs free and stumbled back.

"Ray!" The Mountie's cry barely registered over the harsh sound of his own breathing.

Ignoring the blood dripping from the side of his mouth, Joe shuddered. He was pissed off all over again at his loss. The fucking nerve of that guy looking like Billy--*his* Billy. "Who the fuck are *you*?"

"Well, I'm not *Billy*, ya freak. That's what I tried to tell you," Ray yelled back, clamping his hand over the still bleeding holes in his throat. "If I bleed out, I'm gonna come back and kick your ass."

"Ray?" Fraser asked, a frantic edge in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, Frase." Ray dragged his eyes away from Joe long enough to smile weakly at Fraser. "Just calm Dief down before he has a doggie coronary or something."

While Fraser crouched down and tried to soothe his dog, Alex moved over beside Joe and asked, "You all right now? What the hell was that about?"

After a long silent moment, Joe walked away, making a wide circle around the man he'd just accosted. He clenched his jaw to keep from screaming as Alex caught up with him. Joe glanced at him coldly and said, "Ghosts."

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I've got a few of those."

"No." Alex couldn't possibly know. Joe spat on the ground and rubbed at the blood on his face. The little fucker was supposed to come back. It was just supposed to be a little break. Billy'd go off and have his little tantrum in Califuckinfornia, and then he'd come back and he and Joe would be good again.

Billy didn't come back. Driving under the influence. That's what they called it. Why didn't they just tell the fucking truth? 'Your buddy cracked his car up 'cause he was too fuckin' drunk to drive.' Never gonna see *that* on an accident report. Without breaking stride, Joe dug around in his coat pocket until he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a silver Zippo lighter. He flicked open the lighter, struck the flame, and stared at it for a second inside the protective cup of his hand before lighting a smoke. He tried not to see any comparisons when he clicked the lighter shut and the flame went out.

He looked at Alex for the first time. "Now you know." He could see in the other man's face that he had no clue what Joe was talking about, but he continued as if he did. "I drink and fuck around and feed off junkies and try like hell to forget. That's what I do. Until I get up the fucking guts to walk out into the sunlight."

They walked for a few minutes before Alex broke the silence. "Well, why don't you then?"

Joe laughed bitterly, hating to admit the truth, but not enough to think up a lie. "Fucking hate fire. I don't wanna burn. A nice clean bullet. That's the way I'd wanna go out. But it's too late for that, eh?"

"There's always the stake." As they approached an intersection, Alex glanced up at the signs and took a right turn onto another street. "A stake's just as efficient as a bullet."

"I know." Joe said, reaching into another pocket and finding the sharp piece of wood he'd been carrying around for the last six months. He'd spent hours whittling it until it was just right, and now he just waited for the right time to use it. The right time to put himself out of his fucking misery. He pulled it out far enough for Alex to see and then returned it.

"If you need help..."

"Don't be so fuckin' eager, jun- *Alex*. Maybe I need to think about it first." He looked over at Alex and felt his mood lighten a bit. Anticipation pushed out all the depressing shit. "Maybe I have a couple things left to do first. I still haven't fucked you yet."

Alex grinned and shook his head. "That bit in the alley wasn't enough for you?"

"Fuck no," Joe scoffed. "That was nowhere close to a real fuck."

"I agree, but for a different reason." Alex didn't explain and Joe didn't ask him to. They just kept walking, while Alex checked street signs for their next turn.

After a several blocks and a couple more cigarettes, Joe finally asked where they were going, although the destination didn't make much difference to him. He could fuck Alex just about anywhere, but hearing that they were headed for Alex's hotel did make him pick up the pace a bit.

As they walked along, something occurred to Joe. Maybe he'd picked it up when drinking Alex's blood or just from Alex's manner, but he knew for certain. "You asked for it."

Alex glanced at him and seemed to know what he meant. "I did, and I don't regret it. What about you? Did you ask for it?"

Joe didn't answer until they were almost to the doors of the hotel, and then it was with great reluctance. "Yeah, but... not exactly like this."

*****

"You mean you wanted Billy...?" Alex gasped a little as the warm air of the lobby hit him in the face with almost painful intensity. The cold hadn't particularly bothered him when he was out in it, but now he realized his skin must be nearly frozen. Joe didn't seem to notice so he must have grown used to not being overly affected by outside temperatures.

"It was too late." Joe shrugged and his eyes seemed to shutter, telling Alex not to pursue the conversation any farther. In fact, it was obvious that the further they stayed from the subject of Billy, the better off they'd be. Whoever he was to Joe--friend, lover or whatever, he was also a barely healed scab that still bled no matter who picked at it.

In the elevator, Alex decided he would take Joe's mind off Billy and Ray and everybody else in the world. After all, this could be the last time they ever saw each other and for some reason that he couldn't fathom, Alex wanted to make a lasting impression.

As they were walking down the hall, Joe stopped and grinned. "Listen," he said. "Room 512. You hear that perverted shit? Sounds like she got out the whip...no, wait, that's a riding crop. Ten bucks says he's one of these rich old businessmen and she's a pro."

Alex had focused his hearing on the room in question, but now he shook his head. "I wouldn't take that bet. She's definitely a pro. She's got all the moves and the talk down pat."

"You know this from experience? Been paying for your kinks?" Joe smirked at him as they continued down the hall where Alex unlocked his door.

"I never pay." Alex pulled Joe into the room with him and slammed him back against the door as it closed. "I take." Then he latched onto Joe's mouth before the other man could say anything, because really, there was nothing else to talk about anyway. He thrust his tongue between Joe's lips and immediately cut it on the razor tip of a fang. He pulled back and the crimson streak of his blood shining on Joe's bottom lip sent a bolt of lust and hunger through him.

Looking into Joe's arousal darkened eyes, Alex stepped back and started to undress, dropping his coat and sweater carelessly on the floor. He stopped with his hand on the zipper of his pants. "What are you waiting for? A court order?"

Joe bent down and took off his boots, then started taking his clothes off slowly and methodically. He gave Alex's prosthetic arm one curious glance and then seemed to forget about it as he pulled him close for a long rough kiss. Alex couldn't help but notice that for someone who professed not to like kissing, Joe was good at it. He kissed hard and demanding like a man who knows he's with a man who can take it...or something like that. Alex's brain was shutting down and metaphorical thought was beyond him.

Moving them both toward the bed, Joe pushed Alex's hand away and dealt with his pants himself. He peeled the leather down Alex's hips and shoved him back onto to the bed. With the still half-clothed Joe looming over him, Alex found himself in the same situation he'd been in with Trevor the night before and decided that this experience would be different. Reaching up and grabbing Joe's waistband, he tugged him down on the bed and climbed on top of him.

"You still owe me a drink," Alex reminded the man watching him silently and then he leaned in to Joe's neck and sniffed. Smoke and whiskey, musky male and the lingering smell of blood and sex, Joe's scent went straight to Alex's cock. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deeper breath and then licked the smooth skin right over the big throbbing artery in his neck. And then it was so easy to just let his fangs cut through that fragile barrier and swallow the blood, hot and salty with that odd vampiric sweetness that he was growing to love, flowing over his lips and tongue.

With a husky groan, Joe arched his hips up into Alex's, grinding their erections together. Alex thrust his hips down and withdrew his fangs, moaning with the pleasure of increased friction as he licked every last drop of blood from Joe's skin. It must have been enough because he could feel the achy itch in his gums that meant his teeth were returning to normal.

Since he was focused on what was going on inside his mouth, Alex was taken by surprise when Joe suddenly reared up and flipped him over on his back. Alex waited until Joe had wrestled both their pants completely off without ever giving up his position, and then he rolled Joe over again. Staring down in triumph, Alex propped himself up on his prosthetic arm so he could rub his good hand down Joe's chest and over the slight curve of his stomach.

Before Alex reached his groin, Joe reversed their positions once more and grinned as he worked Alex's thighs apart. Alex grinned back as he silently accepted the challenge and raised his knees high enough to bracket Joe's hips. Clamping his legs tight around Joe, he used his lower body strength to roll them both over.

In all their wrestling, Alex failed to notice how close to the edge of the bed they'd come until they crashed to the floor. As his back hit the carpet, the air whooshed out of Joe's lungs along with one predictable word. Alex had to second the curse when the shock registered in his knees and his arm.

"All right, playtime's over. You wanna be on top? Fine," Joe said calmly, if rather breathlessly. He grabbed Alex's hips in a bruising grip, pushing and pulling until he had the head of his cock against Alex's ass.

Just as he started to press inside, Alex said, "Wait just a minute." Joe started to shake his head, but Alex insisted. "Just a fucking *minute*, okay?"

"What the fuck for?"

"Lube." Alex started to get up and get his bag, but Joe held onto him tightly.

"I got it." Slowly, as if afraid Alex was going to bolt, Joe took one hand off Alex's hip and brought it to his own mouth. He parted his lips until Alex could see his teeth lengthening into fangs, and then he raked one sharp tip across his palm. Blood filled his cupped hand quickly as he moved his hand down and rubbed the liquid on his cock.

"That's not very--" Alex shut up as thick wet fingers worked their way inside him, stretching and widening him until the slight pain became pleasure. The fingers raked over his prostate and were gone again before the sound of his moan had faded. The hand between his legs was replaced by the broad head of Joe's cock pushing into him in one long stroke.

"Go for it, top boy. Show me what you got," Joe growled as he pulled back just a little before thrusting in even deeper. Before Alex could raise himself up for a more controllable angle, Joe grabbed Alex's cheek, smearing the blood over his skin from ear to lips. He lunged up and planted a quick deep kiss on his mouth, then turned Alex loose.

Licking his lips, Alex could taste the salt of sweat and blood around the edges as he raised up and then plunged down again, setting a hard and fast rhythm. The rapid friction soon wore away the thin layer of blood that was supposed to smooth the way, but by then Alex didn't care that he was being rubbed raw. He'd heal. The pain just added another dimension to the pleasure.

Joe wrapped a hand around Alex's erection, callused fingers stroking, stroking, finding all the most sensitive spots as if guided by radar. Working him hard and rough, Joe seemed to know by the way Alex fucked him exactly what he needed. And it was...it was perfect, and Alex managed to clench down hard on Joe's cock in return just before he came, shooting in a pink-tinged arc onto Joe's chest.

Joe came a couple of seconds later with a groan and a shudder that shook his entire body. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his brow was furrowed, like pleasure somehow hurt him. Alex shook off the odd thought as he tried to get his breath back.

Shakily raising up so that Joe's cock could slip free, Alex started to get up, but Joe stopped him with a hand on his back, urging him down until his head lay on Joe's chest. Joe rubbed his hand up and down Alex's back absently as if his mind was a million miles away. For a moment, Alex wondered if he'd just been a substitute for Billy--or Ray, for that matter. Not that it concerned him much one way or the other outside of idle curiosity.

Before he met Trevor, Alex hadn't come close to being affected by another person in at least a year. Or whenever it was that he last saw Mulder, otherwise known, in the privacy of his mind at least, as Alex's Potentially Fatal Weak Spot. His contempt for Mulder grew out of the very real probability that the man would be the end of Alex, in one way or another. Yet, he remained helplessly fascinated, and endlessly grateful that the Smoking Man hadn't caught on to all the nuances of Alex's obsession with the object of Smokey's obsession. Mulder.

Old Smokey needed to be brought down, and not just for Mulder. Alex smiled against Joe's shoulder as he thought about this advantage he finally had over the bastard. He chuckled as he imagined just what all he could do now, how much stronger and faster he was, how much sharper his senses. The Smoking Man wouldn't get away from him.

"What's so funny?" Joe pushed at Alex until he sat up.

Alex pulled himself up onto the side of the bed. "Nothing. Just making plans for when I leave Chicago."

"Yeah? When's that going to be?" Joe climbed to his feet and stood there for a moment looking a little unsteady. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he glanced around and then walked over to his clothes. He scrounged around until he withdrew a red and white pack of cigarettes.

Alex grinned and watched him light a smoke and walk naked into the bathroom. "Soon, I think. I have some business that needs to be taken care of."

"Business, eh?" Joe asked as he came back out looking clean and carrying a wet washcloth that he tossed at Alex. "What do you do?"

Alex caught the cloth and started to clean the blood off his face. "You couldn't tell?"

"Nah." Joe put on his jeans and Trevor's T-shirt before shrugging and admitting, "I didn't get much from you. Mostly the arm and some dark place. It was cold and you couldn't get out."

Alex finished washing and then got up to find some clean clothes. He pulled on boxers and black wool pants, concentrating on the mundane tasks in order to control the nausea that washed over him whenever he thought of the silo. Joe had it right. It had been dark and cold, but that barely scratched the surface of what it had been like, the terror and helplessness of being locked in with a...a *creature* that could take him over again anytime it wanted. The hopelessness... He shook his head and buried it deep inside him. Just as he always did.

After careful consideration, Alex took a shirt out of the closet. As he worked the sleeve over his prosthetic arm, he smiled at Joe who sat on a chair lighting a fresh cigarette and said as casually as possible, "I mostly kill people."

Joe clicked his lighter shut and took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Yeah? Cool."

Alex stared at him nonplussed. "You're not even a little surprised?"

"I'm a fucking vampire." Joe laughed and blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Not much surprises me anymore."

Alex nodded with a wry smile. "Yeah, guess not."

"So you're some kinda what--assassin?"

"More a jack of all trades, but most of those trades tend toward the violent."

"Why?" Joe had a cynical twinkle in his eyes.

"To stay alive."

Joe snorted and ran his fingers through his spiky hair. "That *is* the problem, isn't it?" He stood up, crushed out his cigarette in ashtray on the table, and put his coat on. "Good luck. Stay outta the sun."

"I'd wish you the same, but I don't think you'd appreciate it."

"You'd be right." With a little nod, Joe opened the door and walked out into the hallway.

"See you around, Joe." Alex shut the door and wondered if he ever would see him again. He kind of hoped so. If they never crossed paths again, he'd have to assume Joe succeeded in his self-destruction. He couldn't dwell on the empty feeling of disappointment that thought gave him. He had things to do.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Hollow  
Author: Amy B. <>  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: sexual violence and death. I think this is probably the most NC-17 piece I've ever written, seriously.  
Disclaimers: none, they're all mine.  
Date: March 25, 2001  
Series: Permanent Midnight, sometime between "Left Turn" and "Alive"  
Note: Most of this was written over a year ago, edited out of the story it was meant for, and stuck in a folder. Last night, I suddenly remembered the discarded scenes that I'd saved and realized that one of them could be rewritten for different characters. I'm pretty sure the only reason I had any inclination to try it was that collaborating with Nicole has recharged my writing batteries. So this is because of and for her. Thank you kindly, hon!

* * *

\----------------------------------------------  
Maybe I'm broken and I can't be fixed  
misunderstood, misguided, misfit  
\--from "Hollowman" by Econoline Crush  
\----------------------------------------------

One year... It had been one year since Reese had decided to go to a party given by some people he barely knew. One year since he had taken a guy named Trevor home with him. One year since he'd allowed Trevor do things that no one else ever had and something that Reese had never dreamed possible. In short, it had been a year of hell. A hell that could be laid at Trevor's doorstep, assuming Reese knew where the bastard was now.

##

Pulling up at a stoplight, Reese idly inspected a group of young hustlers that stood around on the corner next to him. Only one caught his eye. Long dark hair falling into almond shaped brown eyes, the boy reminded him of that actor who once played a lawyer working for the Devil. No, younger than that, like in that Bill and Ted movie. Reese figured him to be around eighteen or nineteen, but he had a smooth androgynous look that could pass for anything from fourteen to twenty-five. The boy, in fact, looked a lot like Trevor except for eye color. Reese felt a sudden intense need to make him suffer for that.

He turned the corner and pulled over to the curb, staring at the boy until he approached. When the boy leaned into the open window to give some standard opening line, Reese just stared him in the eyes intently, trying to channel whatever it was that Trevor had done to make Reese so easy to control. The little hustler shut his mouth and got into the car without a word.

Reese was congratulating himself as he pulled away to find a more private place to park, when the boy suddenly shook his head and started giving Reese a rundown of his services and what each one would cost. Reese told him to shut up and the boy did it, causing Reese to smile with smug satisfaction as he drove behind an old grocery store that had apparently been closed up and abandoned. He parked the car in the darker shadows by the loading bay.

"Get out."

"For what? What do you want me to do?" The boy just sat there, a cool calculation in his eyes that made Reese want to smack him. Hard.

Restraining his violent thoughts for the moment, Reese sighed and rolled his eyes. "I want you to get your ass *out* of the *car*. What part of that don't you understand?"

"Yeah, okay. Just chill out, man." The kid got out of the car slowly, watching Reese the entire time. He seemed relieved when Reese got out and came around to stand at the front of the car. He actually smiled when Reese took out some bills and held them up.

"You get this after you suck me off. Do a good job of it and maybe you'll get a little extra." Reese tucked the money into the inside pocket of his jacket where it would be safe from sticky fingers.

The hustler dropped to his knees in front of Reese and started to open his pants. Reese twisted his fingers in the boy's long hair, which immediately made him think of Trevor--that son of a bitch. The anger the other man conjured in him brought Reese's fangs out, and made his body go from barely interested to completely aroused in seconds. The swift change almost gave him a head rush, except that all his blood was draining southward at the moment. The little Trevor-lookalike was good with his mouth. Obviously, he'd gotten plenty of practice on the street and Reese couldn't help but wonder about Trevor and how he'd do in this situation.

He'd be hot and beautiful and perfectly what Reese needed. He let out a bitter laugh at how present Trevor was in his mind, even though he wasn't physically there. Disgusted with himself for hating Trevor and wanting him so bad at the same time.

As he came in slow pulses in the boy's mouth, Reese bit his bottom lip to keep from crying Trevor's name--bit it so hard that a spray of blood spurted onto his tongue. The primal taste of his own life essence sparked a wild hunger in Reese, and watching the boy spit semen out onto the broken pavement fanned the flame higher. He jerked the boy to his feet and spun him around to lie gasping over the hood of the car. He rubbed his bare, wet cock against the tight denim of the hustler's firm little ass and was instantly hard again. He laughed under his breath because that never could have happened when he was still mortal, not on *this* side of thirty.

"Wait! I have rubbers in my pocket." The boy nearly shouted as Reese unzipped his jeans and bared his body to the cool night air. He almost ignored the frantic demand, relenting after a moment just to keep the kid quiet.

Reese reached around and withdrew a condom, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it down over his already aching erection. "Spit!" He shoved his hand in front of the boy's mouth and had to wait several seconds for the boy to work up some moisture. Reese could hear his tongue and throat working nervously, and it just made him hotter. Guess the little punk hasn't had any johns who liked it rough, he thought. Quite a surprise since that face practically screamed "hurt me."

Being a professional of sorts, the boy was already loose, so Reese shoved his cock right in with no preparation. His fingers would have been foreplay and he didn't think the little Trevor-wannabe deserved to enjoy it that much. The boy was surprisingly tight and very hot. Reese thought he could almost lose himself in the mindless rhythm, but that would be too dangerous, taking too great a risk--of discovery, of really getting lost. He pulled almost out then slammed back in hard. He was pushing the boy into the unforgiving metal of the car's fender, but the occasional whimpers only made Reese more crazed.

Leaning over the boy's back, he picked up the kid's head by his hair, turning it so Reese could see his face. His eyes were shut but there was a curious blankness--as if he was just waiting for it to be over. That would not do at all, Reese decided and shushed him with a soft kiss on the cheek, before licking the side of the boy's face, dragging his tongue over the angle of a cheekbone. The dark eyes flew open, wide and startled as Reese did it again, this time trailing his lips over his ear and down to his neck. By this time, Reese had stopped thrusting except for a desultory flexing of his hips, taking more pleasure in playing with the boy's mind than his body.

Whether Reese imagined it or it was real, the taste of confusion and slowly dawning terror on the boy's skin was intoxicating. Nipping at the tender neck, Reese let a fang prick the skin just enough to draw forth a few beads of blood. He rubbed the flat surfaces of his front teeth over the puncture and then raised his head, grinning to show the boy both blood and fangs.

As the hustler's sweet pink mouth opened and drew in air to scream, Reese drove his fangs deep into the boy's carotid artery. The breath caught in the kid's throat, a choked wheeze, then erupted out on a sigh that sounded positively blissful.

Swallowing the first gush of blood with an orgasmic moan, Reese spasmed and came deep inside the kid's body, feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He knew he should stop now, but he just couldn't make himself. He kept sucking and swallowing the magical elixir. He got mental flashes of a tiny apartment, yelling, a big man raising a leather belt, cold, a vial of a little white rocks, fear, a succession of faces male and female, a shiny sharp needle, relief.... And then the bliss that wound around a central core of lust and hunger expanded to the edge of darkness, exploding in a brilliant sparkling burst inside Reese's head.

Pulling away from--out of-- the kid with one last lick, Reese lay across the boy's back, feeling the cooling skin beneath the thin T-shirt as he breathed deeply and waited for the ecstatic energy to work itself through his body. After a few minutes, reality snapped back into place. He took off the condom and picked up the wrapper from the ground, placing them both in a discarded fast food bag for later disposal. The kid hadn't moved, so Reese smacked him across the back of the head. When that got no reaction he smacked him harder across the ass, watching in silence that was somewhat less than stunned as the lifeless body slid to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

 Reese straightened his clothes and pulled up the boy's pants, then rolled the body around so he could take one more look. In death, the boy was just as beautiful, maybe more so than he had been in life. Skin whiter than any snow that Reese'd ever seen, dark eyes frozen wide with pleasure. The resemblance to Trevor was less pronounced but still there. Reese felt a little twinge of disappointment that the boy hadn't really suffered, but his conscience squashed the feeling with relief that his last moments had been good ones. The kid hadn't been long for this world anyway, with the lifestyle he was leading. Maybe...just maybe, he'd actually done the boy a favor.

Reese bent and folded the kid's malleable corpse until it fit into a box he'd found and stuck it into the trunk of his car. He'd toss it into the incinerator in the basement of his building later. As he pulled his car back out into the street, he considered that a year ago he would have been incapable of such cold, methodical thinking. If he had--heaven forbid-- killed someone a year ago, he would have been hysterical with guilt and remorse. He wouldn't have been able to think of what to do next.

A little bit more of his humanity slipped away and he wondered what he'd be capable of a year from now.

He parked his car three blocks from the club and walked the rest of the way. It was a rough neighborhood, but no one bothered him. They instinctively knew that it would be a bad idea. He flashed his fangs to the doorman in identification and was let into what looked like a condemned factory from the outside.

Electronic dance music pulsed through the air in almost visible waves and a multitude of bodies writhed together on the big dance floor in the center of the room. Reese went straight to the bar and ordered a shot of Jim Beam and a Rolling Rock chaser. He tossed the whiskey back and then took a long sip of the beer. He held one hand up in front of his face. Steady as a fucking surgeon. The thought made him flinch inside and wonder how long it would be until he got the urge. How long would it be until the loneliness overwhelmed him and he made one? Until he doomed some other poor stupid sap to this hellish existence?

Until he became like Trevor? Now that did give him pause. Is that what was destined to happen to him? Could he live with it if it did? Could he live with what he just did to the kid in his trunk? Just because he didn't care at the moment didn't mean he wouldn't when the blood and sex had faded from his system.

As he drained off the last of his beer, he motioned to the bartender for another. When the man brought it over, Reese leaned over the bar and asked if he'd heard from Trevor.

The bartender's brow crinkled and he shouted back, "Which Trevor would that be again?"

"Trevor Darien. About five-eight, black hair, light green eyes, skinny--"

"Oh yeah, that one," the bartender interrupted. "He was here just a little while ago. He's probably dancing."

"Thanks." Reese paid for his drink, adding a generous tip, and started working his way across the room. Last he'd heard, Trevor was in Chicago or Detroit or someplace in the Midwest, so he hadn't actually expected him to be in town. But he must have been hoping, since he'd thought to ask about him for the first time in a month. Reese wasn't stupid or soppy enough to think that Trevor had come for Reese's anniversary. The bastard probably never gave him a thought.

Skulking around the edge of the dance floor, Reese finally caught a glimpse of Trevor in the very center, right under the mirrored disco ball. He sipped his beer and watched the slim black-clad figure gyrating to the pounding music, damp dark hair flying around his face as he smiled up at the taller man next to him. For a second it seemed, perhaps impossibly, that Trevor's eyes met Reese's before he swirled around and started dancing with someone else.

And in a moment of clarity so sharp that the music dimmed to a distant hum, Reese knew what he had to do. He almost laughed at how clear it all suddenly seemed. He gave his empty bottle to a passing waiter and walked out onto the dance floor, as the music seemed to swell up around him. He bobbed his head and moved his shoulders to the rhythm as he walked up behind Trevor and touched the back of his neck.

Trevor spun around and plastered himself up against Reese, grinning as Reese ground his hips against him. They continued to writhe and thrust against each other until the song changed, and Reese grabbed Trevor's hand and led him off the dance floor.

The back room was more of a long dark corridor lit by black lights and punctuated by the smell of sex and blood and the sound of scattered moans and one quickly cut off scream. Winding casually through couples and a threesome or two made up of various gender combinations, Reese led Trevor to the very end of the room which few people reached before getting too impatient and just going at it wherever they happened to stand. Reese knew the smartest thing would be to leave this place altogether, but he knew Trevor wouldn't put up a fight over coming to the back room, and he hadn't. He probably saw nothing unusual in wanting to grab a standup quickie with a dozen or so strangers nearby doing the same thing.

When Trevor turned and slammed him against the wall, Reese allowed it. He allowed his mouth to be plundered and his cock to be groped through his pants, reveling in the heat that swept through him. When long clever fingers started to unzip his fly, Reese grabbed them and waited for Trevor to open his eyes before saying, "Do you even know who I am?"

Trevor shrugged and squinted through the darkness for a moment with a quizzical smile playing around his lips. He started to say something but Reese cut him off with another question, "Do you know *what* I am?"

"Well, I would assume you're a vampire if you're in this place." Trevor leaned forward and buried his face in Reese's collar, drawing in a deep breath. "I can smell fresh blood on you, and come so I know I'm not exactly going where no man has gone before." He started to open Reese's pants, but once more Reese stopped him.

"I'm a killer. A monster." Reese jerked Trevor closer and snarled, "You made me this way."

A smile slowly broke over Trevor's face and he crowed in what sounded like honest delight, "Reese, of course! I remember you, my pet, very well. Been getting along well I see."

Nonplused, Reese stared at him in silence for a moment and then said savagely, "No, I have bloody well *not* been getting along well, you fucking bastard. You ruined my life."

"What life?" Trevor scoffed, "You had no life as I recall. I made you better than you were. I *gave* you life."

"I don't want to... You deserve to die." Reese twisted his hands in the soft cotton of Trevor's black T-shirt, almost lifting him off his feet. "You have to die or kill me. I don't want to become a monster like you."

Trevor tilted his head and made a tsking sound that was almost sympathetic. He spoke with dawning wonder in his voice. "You ungrateful little whelp. I gave you a great gift and you're throwing it in my face. Do you really want to die? Crumble to dust and cease to exist. Is that what you want?"

"What I *want* is for you to suffer even half of what I have gone through this past year." Reese squeezed his eyes closed and tried to steady his voice when he spoke again. "I lost my job because I couldn't go to work every morning. I've lost my family--how could I explain to mom and dad why I couldn't come to Easter dinner? I live in terror that someone will find out what I am. I've done...bad things. I killed a boy tonight."

Trevor sighed loudly. "And that's all my fault, is it? You can't make your life work, and *I* am to blame? Fuck off, you little twit. Everyone suffers losses. If your life was so wonderful, you'd have never agreed to accept my gift."

With a burst of hopeless rage, Reese lifted Trevor off the floor and shook him hard. "I didn't know what it was, damn you. I didn't know." He ignored the tears streaming down his face as he continued brokenly, "I didn't know."

Trevor's eyes seemed to glow as he stared hard into Reese's and said in a deeper, resonant voice, "Put me down now. Put me down and calm down, Reese. You don't want to hurt me."

Reese found himself following orders, but his confused hatred ran too deep to be silenced by whatever glamour Trevor cast over him. "I do, I... I wanted him. I fucked him because he looked like you. I killed him because he reminded me of you. I wanted to kill you, but now...I want to die."

"And you want me to do the deed? Did you think you could handle me roughly and I'd snap and put you out of your misery?" Trevor shook his head and said, "I don't want to kill you. I tried to save you and this is the thanks I get."

"Save me? *Save* me?" Reese stared at him, too livid to continue.

"Well, yeah. I saved you from a terribly boring existence."

With a cry of rage, Reese flung himself at Trevor, lips drawn back, fangs fully extended, aiming for his throat. Trevor stepped to one side and grabbed Reese's right arm, twisting it up behind his back. He pressed his lips to the side of Reese's face and whispered into his ear, "You want to die that badly? Wait until sunrise and walk outside. Poof. Problem solved."

Reese swallowed hard as that velvet voice wreaked havoc on his insides. The hell of it was, he almost wanted the bastard again. He stamped down hard on his libido and shakily said, "There'd be no justice in that."

Trevor's husky laugh sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, you want *justice*. Well, why didn't you say so? Anything else I can get you, while we're at it? How about some mercy, liberty, and charity? Will that satisfy your thirst for moral reparation?"

"Don't laugh at me. You made me."

"I'm not laughing at you, my pet. Well, yes I am, but still..." Trevor sighed and loosened his hold on Reese's arm. "What do you expect me to do? What will make it all better?"

"Kill me before I hurt someone else." Reese forced himself to meet Trevor's amused gaze. "I won't ask to fuck you one more time for old time's sake. Our old times weren't all that great."

"Oh, I beg to differ. The week we spent together was quite wonderful. We must have fucked two dozen times, and that is the one thing I do very well, if I may say so."

"Yeah, it was fine, but there was all the rest."

Trevor drew himself up in what looked like genuine shock. "You didn't enjoy our blood games?"

"No. Yes. I did...at...at the time, but later when you were gone, it... I knew it was sick and wrong and I was...sorry." Reese remembered to well the horror that had set in when he'd realized what he'd done, what he'd become, and it sickened him still.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, my pet." Trevor smiled sadly and then nodded. "You shall have your justice." He glanced around at the other occupants of the room for the first time and added, "But not here. People might get the wrong impression."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want anyone to know what you are."

"What we *all* are, Reese. The rest of us just handle it better than you."

##

It seemed appropriate that the moon would be full. It hung heavy and bright in a clear midnight sky, and sparkled like diamonds in the waves that tumbled up onto the beach.

While Reese stood silently watching the ocean, Trevor broke a branch off a larger piece of driftwood and whittled it into a stake. He took his time and made sure that the point was very sharp, so it would cause as little pain as possible. He didn't want to do this, but he felt he owed it to the man. He refused to think about that too deeply because he'd still have to look at himself in the mirror tomorrow night.

"Are you ready, Reese?" Trevor asked softly, giving him one more chance to change his mind. "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?"

Reese turned to face Trevor as he approached. "Yes. I'm ready. If you would..." His voice trailed off and his eyes shifted back to the water. "Would you drink from me? One last time?"

"Of course, my pet." Trevor gripped the stake tightly in one hand and wrapped the other around Reese's back. His mind drifted back to the night he first met Reese. He'd been heavier then, his brown hair short and neatly trimmed. There'd been the sparkle of untapped potential in his bright blue eyes that Trevor had found incredibly sexy. So much of that was gone now, but when he sank his teeth into Reese's throat, his cock hardened almost painfully.

As the blood filled his mouth and pulsed down his throat, Trevor got flashes of loneliness, of pain sharp and acrid, of an old man turning away in disgust and an old woman crying. Flashes of bloodlust burning in his veins, of a young man with black hair and almond eyes. As he swallowed Reese's blood, Trevor saw the boy kneeling at Reese's feet and swallowing his come. The bitter taste filled his head and he got a flash of the boy's fear as Reese jerked him to his feet, and then...nothing. Trevor ripped his fangs free of Reese's throat as his head rolled limply to one side.

Trevor pressed one last kiss to Reese's slack lips and then plunged the stake into his chest. Left with nothing but a dark blue shirt lying empty in his hand, Trevor dropped it to the ground and wiped the dust off his own clothes.

Then he walked away, wondering vaguely what happened to the boy's body.

The End.

 

* * *

 

Title: Gift  
Author: Amy B. <>  
Fandom: Original characters in a universe created for media characters  
Pairing: none yet  
Rating: PG-13 for a few bad words  
Date: March, 2001  
Disclaimers: None, because they're all my characters.  
Series: Permanent Midnight, sequel to "Hollow" so it's sometime between "Left Turn" and "Alive" But it is not at all necessary to have read any of the rest of the series.  
Notes: This one is for Rita and for Katail who posed the question that got me thinking in this direction. Thanks to Shug, Gemma, Melis, Barb, and Nicole for encouraging the hell out of me both with this series and writing in general.  
Warnings: None  
Summary: In the aftermath of Reese's death, Trevor takes a philosophical view of vampire life & death, and finds out that not everyone shares his outlook.

* * *

\-----------------------------------------  
No one's going to save you  
'Cause they can't rearrange you  
And nothing ever changes  
You're cynical and dangerous  
\--"Wear Me Down", Treble Charger  
\-----------------------------------------

The only way Trevor knew how to shake off the disturbing feelings that Reese's death had left with him was to go back to the club. The music and people and alcohol would smooth the way for him to walk right past this little interlude with nary a bobble. It's not as if this sort of thing had never happened before.

First there was Stefan. Poor doomed Stefan, with the face of an angel and, unfortunately, the soul of a saint. Trevor should have known he was a bad choice for the gift, but the boy had been so sad and so beautiful--a combination that was one of Trevor's stronger weaknesses. He hadn't lasted a month until his conscience overwhelmed him and he walked out into the sun. Trevor, being young himself and not even called Trevor yet, had cried and raged at the tragic waste of it all.

Then came Selwyn who held a grudge for three hundred years before challenging Trevor one too many times. After the first hundred years or so, he'd come to almost enjoy the vicious little games Selwyn would play each time their paths crossed, and he believed that Selwyn had too. Maybe that was what kept him alive for two hundred more years before boredom and despair had set in. Or whatever it was that had caused him to push Trevor into staking him.

Trevor never understood it--maybe never would understand why anyone would take his own life. He'd been living it for nearly five hundred years and he wasn't tired of it yet. Sure, ennui set in occasionally, but there were always new places to go, new people to meet, and new blood to taste. His bouts of boredom were minimal and only vaguely annoying until his natural enthusiasm subsumed them. They were never enough to push him to such a place that Stefan, Selwyn, Reese, and many others had reached.

The thought of openly dealing with his feelings, of accepting responsibility for the lost ones never crossed his mind.

At the bar, he ordered a shot of Jim Beam and drank a silent toast to Reese Hilliard, a fine young man who had left this world much too soon. He let the whiskey settle in his stomach for a moment before he waved the bartender over and ordered a double of the expensive single malt scotch that he much rather preferred.

Fresh drink in hand, Trevor sauntered up the stairs to the semi-circular balcony that would allow him to look out over the dance floor and most of the rest of the club. After several moments of solitary people-watching, Trevor felt someone walk up beside him and lean against the railing, mirroring his pose. He glanced over and sighed when he saw who it was. "Hello, Sloan. Fancy seeing you here. Last I heard, you thought our 'tawdry little pleasure palace' was much too gauche for your sophisticated tastes."

"Consider it slumming, if you will." The older man gave Trevor a glance that made clear just exactly how far that extended. "I like to keep up with what's going on in The Community."

Trevor snorted at the way the man pronounced the words with capital letters, but all he said was, "Oh, really? Heard any good gossip then?"

"I heard you left here with a teary, wild-eyed young one and then came back alone less than an hour later."

"What I do is not gossip." Trevor calmly took a sip of his drink. "At least not to me. What else have you got?"

"Sandrine is back in town."

"I can see that." Trevor motioned to a blonde in a very short red dress dancing with a shirtless young man. "She looks as gorgeous as ever."

Sloan cut him a look out of the corner of his eye, and said in a smarmy voice, "You've had her then?"

"Not unless there's a penis concealed under that dress." As if on cue, the young man pulled Sandrine's back to his front, tightening her dress across the front of her body. "It would have to be very cleverly concealed indeed, and either way the answer is still no."

"How is it that one with your appreciation of beauty would not want to take full advantage of it?"

"I happen to think lions and tigers are incredibly beautiful, but I wouldn't want to fuck one of them either."

"For some reason, I didn't think you were that choosy."

Trevor tried to think of something clever to say, but couldn't so he went for the unvarnished truth. "You're just jealous because I've never fucked you."

"Hardly. *I* have some standards," said Sloan with a haughty lift of his head, but Trevor caught the way his gaze ran down Trevor's body.

"Why don't you go away and let me drink in peace?" He waved a waitress over and ordered another scotch.

"The young one, Trevor," Sloan reminded him, unnecessarily since Trevor had not forgotten the implied question. He was merely trying to avoid talking about it. "What happened to him?"

Trevor looked into blue eyes, pale and icy, so different from Reese's warm, ocean color. He wondered why he was having this conversation that he didn't want to have, with this man he didn't like. This man whose face looked young and lively, but whose brain was old and set in its ways. He took a deep breath and found himself answering. "He decided to shake off this immortal coil in one of our time honored traditions. Ashes to ashes and all that."

Sloan's mirthless smile insinuated so much more than his simple question, "With a little help from you?"

"Just like I'd put any wounded animal out of its misery," Trevor replied coldly.

"And just who wounded him in the first place?" For the first time, Sloan's voice lost its slightly taunting tone and tightened with anger.

Trevor stared at him silently.

"Well, Trevor? Have you nothing to say in your own defense?"

"I need no defense." Trevor spit the words out and turned away. The return of the waitress gave him a chance to swallow down some of his anger. He paid her and took a long sip of his drink, opening up his senses to fully savor the peaty, smoky burn of the liquor trickling down his throat. When he felt calmer, he turned back to Sloan and spoke in a more reasonable tone. "He begged me. What else should I have done?"

"You should have thought twice before you brought him over." Off Trevor's surprised look, Sloan nodded smugly. "Oh yes, I'm sure you made him--foolishly, imprudently, without a care as to what it might do to the boy. Just as you have so many others. You've been getting quite a reputation in The Community."

"A reputation, have I?"

"A dangerous one, I'm afraid."

Trevor laughed with genuine amusement. "Oh, I rather doubt that."

Sloan turned to fully face Trevor and put his hand on his arm. "Look, Trevor, I like you--

"Since when?" Trevor interrupted with another laugh, this one incredulous, but Sloan ignored him.

"--and I don't want to see you in disfavor. You're pushing your luck--and that of the rest of us--by running around making new vampires right and left. There are so many things wrong and dangerous in what you do, not the least of which..." Sloan stopped and visibly gathered himself, then spoke in a carefully measured tone. "We are by necessity a secret society. The more people who know a secret, the less likely it is to be kept."

"And what will you do about it, if I don't stop?"

"I? Nothing. But there are others, some older and even more paranoid than I, who would dust you in a second."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do." Sloan nodded and turned away, but not before Trevor caught a strange look on his face. It almost looked like concern, but Trevor had known and clashed with Sloan for far too long to think the man actually cared about him.

Alone once more, Trevor watched the dancers below and contemplated going to join them. He'd been having quite a good time before Reese had shown up. But now, he had too much to think about, too many choices to consider.

While it was true that he was rather liberal about making new vampires--often doing it for no other reason than that he thought it would be fun-- he didn't go around making them everyday. He had in fact gone for years at a time without making a new one. If he was properly involved with someone, a young vampire he wanted to teach or an old one he wanted to learn from, he felt no need to give the gift. He hadn't been in either situation for a long time, he thought wistfully, nor any other close relationship.

So now the old ones wanted to curtail his reproductive habits, did they? A bunch of musty old killers, half of them running 'round in evening attire because of some stuffy old tradition. They probably called each other Count whatever and pretended to be aristocrats, even if they started out life as goat herders.

Trevor, on the other hand, was highly adaptable. He liked flying on the Concorde and driving fast cars and listening to rock and roll. He liked television and movies, and appreciated the convenience of computers even though he didn't understand them. He lived in the age he was in, instead of clinging to some glorious past just because it was the past.

He liked being his own man, and not subject to the whims of some feudal overlord--been there, done that, got the lash marks. More than 'liked', it was essential to who he was. However, in the name of adaptability, he would curb his sharing for awhile. He could do that. But he wouldn't give it up altogether, not if someone asked for it and knew what he was getting into.

It was a gift after all. Better to give than to receive and all that.

The end.

\-------------------------------------------------  
http://members.tripod.com/Joy_HS/  


  
\-------------------------------------------------

 

* * *

 

Title: Sinking  
Author: Amy B.  
Rating: NC-17  
Date: April 8, 2001  
Fandom/pairing: original characters  
Series: Permanent Midnight, about 6 months after "Gift" (and "Alive" etc) This will definitely make more sense if you've read Gift. Having read the media-related portion of the series is not essential.  
Warning: Some elements of BDSM are used in a slightly different way than usual (I think, anyway). It's pretty mild, in my opinion, but if the idea squicks you, skip this. The usual blood warning still applies. This is not meant to realistically portray any S&M scene or lifestyle--it's firmly in vampire fantasyland.  
Huge thanks to nancy and Nicole for making sure I didn't screw it up too much. Hugs and smooches to two wonderful, generous ladies. Anything that's still wonky is my fault.  
Feedback of any kind is welcome and greatly appreciated at:   
Summary: Trevor has a surprising need that is met by an unexpected source. Or something like that. I suck at writing summaries.

* * *

Archivist's note: As this series has become original characters only, I am no longer archiving this story. Please visit Amy's site to read more of this story: http://merrygoround.slashcity.tv/permanent.html.

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
